Anima
by relaxovision
Summary: S2 AU: Regina, Emma and Rumpelstiltskin all have their demons to fight. And sometimes our demons come alive to hunt and kill. Emma/Red; Regina/Daniel (flashbacks); Regina/female OC; eventual Swan Queen friendship; Warning: Character death
1. Prologue

**A/N: **I started writing the outline for this story shortly after I had watched the S1 finale. As a consequence it's a **S2 AU**. I may rehash some themes, but any plot similarities are coincidental. Everything from season 1 is canon, with the exception that Stealthy never died.

Characters: Regina, Emma, Snow, Red, Rumpel, Henry and two OCs; everyone else is fair game, but won't have major roles.

I'd like to thank **AJ (aaajmachine)** for her encouraging words, for enduring my emotional outbursts and for helping me create something really cool.

Last but not least, thank you, **Julia (becauseforoncethisisme**), for correcting errors in grammar and spelling.

**PS:** Whoever finds and understands all references/ Easter eggs will probably be the love of my life.

* * *

**Anima**

**Prologue**

We believe in magic, because we're afraid that whatever we do won't be enough – that _we_ won't be enough. We cling to the hope that there's more than we can see, more than we can understand - outside of our control.

And if we fail, at least it won't have been our fault.

So believe! Believe in magic and the hope it brings. Believe in evil, too. Surrender to the forces that work and work, relentlessly pulling you into their future. And be prepared.

Destiny is waiting.

.

Regina Mills is not a very nice person.

One could argue that "nice" is a matter of perspective and good and evil are but an illusion made from minds that confuse opinion with fact.

But even from an objective point of view – should one exist – scheming and blackmailing and lying and cheating and betraying and murder do not usually fall into the textbook definition of "nice".

She's very much aware of that people think of her that way, and in a twisted way it even makes her proud.

That's what she tells herself, at least.

Out of all things she ever held dear, her dignity is what she clutches tightest to her chest, like a cross, if she still had faith, or like Henry does with his book of stories. On rare occasions her grip becomes tight enough to convince herself that it's enough.

She's someone, not no one. Not the girl who wanted to ride away with Daniel. Not the girl who was scolded for wearing boots and climbing trees. Not the girl who failed to get it right and make her mother proud. Not the girl whose dark eyes were blind to the harsh truth – that love equals weakness; especially the love for yourself.

She's not the woman her mother envied for her youth. She's Regina, the cruel; Regina, the mean; Regina the adult; Regina, the Queen. Regina with a tree full of poisonous wishes.

She hates how Snow looks at her, full of compassion, not fear, not anger, not even pity. Eyes, a green reminiscent of Regina's very own toxin, yet harboring a whole different kind of venom, scan her face and Regina feels her façade crack and crumble. The effect is always immediate. It hurts, feeling her skin burst open so easily. She can see her life running out, running away, dissolving and vanishing into thin air. And she's trapped; trapped with nowhere to turn to, no one and nothing to call hers, and hers alone. She loved Snow, once upon a time.

She hates how Emma looks at her, with concern about her well-being, skepticism, but not the disdain she so rightfully deserves. The pain of veins popping, scars embedding themselves into her dark shell – the shell that protects the remnants of the girl who loved – the pain of knowing revenge won't ever give her back what she's lost; the pain of knowing that she has to try despite of it; that pain is what keeps her going. She seeks nothing short of justice.

She hates remembering her father's face when she carved his heart out – shock, disappointment, and so much love.

It's sickening, the thought of herself being the only one hating her with all she has.

It's these moments, these moments of disgust for her weakness, when she's about to falter, fall, give herself up to depression, that plans start to form from the darkness of her mind. And she remembers: she's evil.

It gives her strength, being that, being something: something other than pathetic.

She's a villain. She'll hate until she can't anymore, fuel her own anger and fuel their bravery. She'll fight until her dying breath. She'll defeat them all, heroes and peasants and Emma and Snow and even Henry's judging eyes and then, then she'll finally – finally – be able to sleep again, knowing she's accomplished everything there is to accomplish. She'll have a fresh start. Daniel won't have died for nothing.

That's what she tells herself, at least.

.

The first time it happens it's just a fleeting moment, so quickly passed that anyone else, in a land without magic, might not even have noticed. And although Regina doesn't understand what she's experiencing, she knows she's experiencing _something_.

She's on her way to the store, because even Evil Queens need to eat occasionally - although cooking for one is another bitter reminder – outside of town.

A light switches to red and she steps on the breaks just in time.

Regina Mills is not a very social person; never has been, actually. That certainly hasn't improved now that everyone remembers what she's done and there are pitchforks and torches waiting for her behind every corner.

Fortunately the system of The Good also works to The Evil's advantage. In the land of Emma Swan, the land without magic, murder is illegal; as is arbitrary law. Her moral code orders her to protect Regina, which is a little ironic from an objective point of view – should one exist.

And her powers are back, which is practical. It keeps everyone at a safe distance; far away enough to protect Regina from their poisonous compassion. She's still evil. She's still someone, not no one.

Right now every second feels like the calm before the storm. The air is heavy with uncertainty. Who will draw first? Who will strike and who will fall? Whose strategy will work out? Every breath feels thick and every moment that ticks away fuels her hatred, gives her something to grip tight.

Until there's this one second in which she feels different. It's like a small heart attack and she grabs her chest and gasps for air, thankful that she's stopped the car already; a shiver runs down her spine, cold and harsh; and she thinks of Daniel - Daniel, riding away with her to a better place where her mother's wishes would be far. Daniel and his kind eyes that could root her to the spot; she never wanted to free herself from his spell. Daniel, whispering her name; back in a time when her fate was yet unwritten. Daniel, showering her with affection; he'd always succeed in kissing her worries away.

She closes her eyes and fights back a shiver of sobs and grinds her teeth and holds her breath. Not weakness! No such paltriness shall befall her now! No foolish thoughts shall infiltrate her mind. Not now. Not ever.

Regina has worked too hard on deflection. It was cruel enough losing Daniel once, having him ripped away, having Henry leave.

The grief at the pit of her stomach is the only memory she's got left now; the only thing that reminds her of better times. So she cherishes it, protects it with wrath, locks it up in bitterness and lashes out at everyone who dares to try and coax her out of her shell. No one will dare touch her precious darkness.

If she lost that, she'd lose Daniel and Henry all over again; this time there'd be nothing left.

She breathes out and blinks away her tears and lifts her head to look in the rearview mirror. Black eyes stare back at her. If they're hers or her mother's she can't say.

.

Regina Mills is not a very spontaneous person.

She walks along her path of plots like an equilibrist walks on their wire. Gracefully she sets one foot before the other, ever aware of the danger each step imposes. One mistake and she'll fall and break her neck.

She needs her plans, separating her from the tank full of sharks waiting at the bottom. She needs the prospect of something to work towards.

Plans imply that there's a goal and for Regina there're certainly plenty of things she doesn't have, yet; things she wants, things she needs – everything Snow has ripped from her, coldly like any other winter.

When it happens for the second time it feels like a blizzard.

She's in her garden, cutting off the heads of the white roses she wanted a week ago. But last week lays in the past, as do Regina's curse and temper. Of course, she could just paint them red instead. She is, after all, the true Queen of Hearts, outside of the bounds of Wonderland, at least. Now that she seems to be the only one accursed, though, she prefers to use brute force to carry out her sentences. So off with their heads.

The hedge shears snap shut with the clinging sound of metal against metal and another bundle of petals, white as snow, falls to the ground, dead. A small satisfied smile graces Regina's face and her heart rate speeds up for a second. She does it again. And again. And again until only thorns are left and her garden matches her mood.

It's a cold rush this time and she realizes immediately that _something_'s going on.

"Who's there?"

Her head snaps up and dark eyes search her property, systematically scanning all possible hiding spots. It doesn't make sense. The shield she summoned protects her from any intruders. Thick vines intertwine and form an unbreakable fence. No one should be able to get past this barrier.

And yet.

"Who are you?"

Her question remains unanswered, but the goose bumps that creep down her back and up her arms make her shiver now. Suddenly her face starts to ache; her skin is dry and _so_ cold. She crosses her arms. And she thinks of Daniel.

Daniel chasing her through fresh snow; Daniel tackling her, catching her before she falls; both of them doubled over with laughter.

The sound of happiness echoes painfully in her mind and she shakes her head, shakes off the images. Regina is not falling for someone else's spell.

"Show yourself!" she yells and lifts her arms, unleashing death upon neatly cut bushes and proudly tall grown trees. They wither, expose dark corners and concealments.

But there's no one there. Is she losing her mind, after all?

Regina is rarely caught off-guard, because she thrives on plans and B-plans and what's a strategy without a defense?

She swallows hard, huffs her momentary insanity away and walks and retreats into her mansion.

.

Regina Mills is not a very affectionate person.

That one's a blatant lie, actually. One she doesn't even dare tell herself. She longs for someone to hold her, for someone to be held by her. She loves to take Henry in her arms and stroke his cheek and kiss his hair. She loves to love through touch.

She loved to curl up in Daniel's arms and close her eyes and believe that they could make it, together.

But since love turned its back on her there haven't been many people around to be affectionate with. Being evil has the side effect of driving people away.

And now that she's truly destined to be on her own, always, she can admit that the other lives she lived have never been hers and all affection she received was false. Her mother taught her that being in a position of power is preferable to being loved. She'd say that happiness can be replaced easily.

So when Snow took Regina's happiness, she tried to replace it.

She tried to hate, but hate always only leads to more hate, nothing else. She tried to steal Snow's father from her, to be the fairest of them all in his eyes. But she was rejected. She tried to kill Snow, to replace her own grief with the satisfaction of revenge. But other people's happiness always seems to find a way. Regina wonders why this rule doesn't apply to her.

The rash decision to erase happiness altogether was a logical conclusion. If Regina couldn't have her wishes come true, then neither should anyone else.

That plan actually seemed to work. For eighteen years she was powerful, not loved, not happy, but content with the knowledge of everyone else suffering worse than her.

No one gives her what she wants voluntarily. No one wants to be close to her. No one wants to love her. So she takes what she desires, gladly and with force. People refuse to give them their hearts, so she takes them. She wasn't blessed with a family of her own, so she took someone else's.

The happiness she destroys while pleasing her ever growing thirst is a welcome side-effect.

Of course, it's never quite enough. The void that Daniel left gapes open every sunset, every time Henry looks up at her, knowing who she is, every time she's questioned in authority or worse, as a person, every time someone else climbs past her and reminds her she belongs at the bottom. She hears her mom roar insults and all her wounds start to bleed at once.

She's no one. She's no one's. Snow took love away from her. And it's not fair. It's not fair that everybody has love. Snow and Emma and Charming and even that stupid dwarf have love, even though dwarves are not meant to love at all. Everyone has it. Even Red, who killed her boyfriend, is loved by her grandmother.

And what does Regina have?

The third time it happens Regina is almost prepared, but not quite.

She's on her way to Gold, still protected by her magic. The citizens of Storybrooke can't harm her and she'll make sure that it stays that way. Right now she can walk freely, with her head held high.

Who wants love when they have fear instead? Who wants affection when the sight of people jumping out of your way, hiding in the shadows, hoping you'll pass them by, spare their lives this one more time, is so much more fulfilling?

And then…

…then she sees Henry.

He's just across the street, standing there, his judging eyes on her as always. He's not afraid, but there's no love in his features, either. It's the disappointment she dreads so much.

Life was easy when it was just the two of them with the curse keeping their family intact. Before Henry could speak. Before Snow gave him that book.

They'd make castles out of sand, not stone or spells. And she'd paint his face with soapy bubbles as he splashed water everywhere. They'd laugh. They'd laugh until they were out of breath and her abs ached and her cheeks felt sore. She taught him how to tie his shoes.

And now he's standing there across the street, and no one's laughing anymore and those memories sting. He ripped her heart right out.

She'll never get it back, the life she never truly had. The life she stole. The closest thing to happiness.

Then the moment has passed. Emma tugs at Henry's hand and Henry follows voluntarily and Regina is about to crumble when something else catches her attention.

A stranger, standing a few meters from where Henry had been standing, bent over the opened front of her car; a woman Regina has never seen before in Storybrooke.

Strangers aren't supposed to come here, even now that the curse is broken. But this woman is standing there as if she had a right to just stand around, in Regina's town.

She narrows her eyes and lifts her chin and approaches the stranger. Not like prey, but like competition, although she's not yet sure what she's competing for.

The woman is a few inches shorter than Regina, very slim, but there seems to be a hidden strength beneath her façade. Regina fails to put her finger on it, though. Her skin is a whole shade darker than Regina's, caramel, not quite chocolate. Her eyes are black like Regina's own and her raven hair is tied up to a short pony tail, shining with a faint hint of red where the sun rays touch it directly.

She blinks a couple of times and pulls her lower lip between her teeth and just when Regina has reached the car she lifts her head and says:

"Oh, fuck it." and slams the hood shut and wipes her hand at her jeans.

"Can I help you?" Regina sneers. It's not actually an offer as much as an order to leave and the spite in her voice should be obvious, especially when she crosses her arms and eyes up the stranger in front of her.

But the woman just wipes at her brows, gives Regina a half smile and, ignoring the anger directed at her, says:

"Well, I could use a ride to the next tire shop. My car seems to be broken."

Regina's almost taken aback by her audacity and she takes a step forward and purses her lips and raises an eyebrow.

The only reaction she gets is an irritated look, shifty eyes, but not the intimidation she'd wanted. It's infuriating.

Taking another bold step forward she comes face to face with the other woman. Emphasizing the height difference she lifts her chin and glares down.

"And who are you?" she almost hisses.

There's a pause, in which Regina is sure she's scared the stranger. The corner of her mouth shoots up into a tiny triumphant smirk.

Then the woman briefly shakes her head, shakes away her irritation as it seems, and reaches out her hand, which Regina pointedly refuses to accept.

Taking her hand back, the woman furrows her thin eyebrows.

"My name's Vanessa Marshal."

Another pause, before she adds, squinting her eyes: "I'm sorry. Have we met before?"

And Regina laughs a bitter laugh, way too loud and drained in sarcasm.

"No." she answers finally. "I'm the mayor of this town and", she raises her voice again, says the next few words loud enough to hear for anyone who cares to listen, "as you will have heard by now, The Evil Queen."

Vanessa Marshal takes the smallest step back and doesn't say anything. Her lips are tight now and her eyes are big. But she doesn't seem terrified. She looks up to Regina through dark eyes and holds her posture otherwise.

"I'm only on my way through to Boston." she finally says, and it's infuriating how calm she seems. Regina flares her nostrils and considers turning the intruder into a rodent. Internally she snickers at the thought of a tiny rat wearing a tiny brown plaid shirt and not looking all that fearless anymore.

"Well, I didn't mean to keep you from leaving." she spits out instead, turning to leave.

She almost doesn't hear the sarcastic "So nice to meet you." and just when she's about to turn around and unleash hell upon Ms. Marshal, she notices that all too familiar feeling of uneasiness. Goose bumps and a thundering heart in her chest and a shiver down her spine.

And she thinks of Daniel. She thinks of how he'd counter her anger and how she never minded losing an argument to him. She thinks of how he never cared about being just a stable boy; he only cared about being good enough for her. She thinks of…

The sound of screeching tires interrupts her train of thought and before she knows it she's lying on the ground, waking up from what seems like a drunken stupor. She blinks and has no idea of how to feel or what just happened.

"Are you ok?"

That infuriating Vanessa Marshal person climbs back up to her own feet and offers her hand, again, just to be rejected.

"I think he tried to hit you on purpose." She's a little out of breath and apparently genuinely surprised.

Regina is just angry. She let her guard down. She's on her own and she let her guard down and of course someone would take the opportunity.

She pulls at the hem of her blazer to straighten it and takes that hand after all.

"I told you. I'm evil," she states simply. _And a pathetic idiot, it seems_, she adds internally.

When their eyes meet again, Ms. Marshal has her eyes squinted and her lips pressed together in a tight line again. She's contemplating.

"I swear I know you from somewhere."

It actually renders Regina speechless how that woman keeps ignoring the clear threat she's confronted with.

She inhales deeply and grinds her teeth.

"Well."

That's all she says, tersely, before she turns to leave and this time nothing's stopping her.

Those visions don't mean anything. This woman won't disturb her again. She'll regain her strength completely and find a way to get Henry back. She'll be someone.

Regina Mills is not someone to be quickly irritated. Not by death threats. Not by intruders in Storybrooke.

That's what she tells herself, at least.


	2. Chapter 1: Enough

**Chapter 1: Enough**

"And I'm telling you, Rupert: We're in love!"

It's a cold night and the wind rattles at trees and makes branches slash violently against the windows of the Drunken Druid. But the tavern is stashed with travelers, all drunk, all laughing, warming up the place enough for Daniel to sweat a little as he raises his glass to his childhood friend.

"I don't care what anyone thinks. Let them talk. Let them gossip all they want. I love Regina."

Rupert is not an idiot. He knows when to argue and when to hold his tongue. He's young like Daniel, but otherwise quite his opposite. Where Daniel's hair shines golden, his own is so dark it barely reflects light at all. Where Daniel's features are finely chiseled, his own seem thick in comparison. His skin is dark and his voice is deep. He's handsome, sure, but he never looked liked a prince, not like Daniel.

Where Daniel's heart beats with cheerfulness, Rupert is the pragmatic type and despite his youth he's got the wrinkles on his forehead to prove just how much time he spends thinking.

"I know." he says. "I know that and I'm happy for you. And I know that she loves you the same. But is it enough?"

And Daniel thinks of his love, dark locks gliding through the tips of his fingers, dark eyes trusting him implicitly. He thinks of Regina's smile after they've kissed and how he never gets enough of making her happy. He thinks about how he's never felt like this before, like he could move mountains with his bare hands, defeat wizards, fight gnomes and wolves and even soul suckers. He thinks about how he can't wait to close his arms around the girl he loves and if that's the only thing he'd be experiencing for the upcoming eternity, it'd be everything he'd ever need.

"Love is the most powerful magic. It will always be enough."

.

Somewhere else, not quite as far away, on a night not quite as cold and stormy, Emma Swan is planted at her desk, browsing through files without actually reading them. Her fingers glide over facts and figures, numbers she doesn't see. She's freezing.

Her mind is with Henry and Regina and – Mary Margret.

She doesn't have work to do. What laws apply now anyway? Whose names are on those files? But she can't just go home and face the family she suddenly has. Only a short week ago she was barely getting used to having a son – a son who was also someone else's son.

And now she seems to have the full package: Parents, said son, all living in one apartment with her and even a step-grandmother (although that's another bunch of laws she chooses not to break her mind about).

It's too much to digest all at once.

Mary Margret – Snow – looks at her with so much love, so much warmth, so much – expectation. It's too much, the pressure of having to be a family member. She needs to learn forgiveness first. She needs to leave twenty-eight long years of solitude behind - all she's ever known.

_Who am I now?_

She asked at age five when her first set of foster parents kicked her out again. The answer never came.

_Who am I now?_

She asked again, seven years later when the system had her back for a third time and she cried into a pillow in a room with twelve other kids. She was nothing. Always.

_Who can I ever be?_

She asked when she gave Henry up for adoption, tears in fearful eyes, soaking the little blanket the boy was wrapped into. He didn't have a name then and she felt like she didn't have one, either.

"Whoever you will be", she told the bundle in her arms, "be happy."

_Who am I now? _

She wonders, sitting at her desk, burdened with a home full of people who want to know her.

Emma Swan has never felt so isolated, alienated, before in her life.

But the hours tick by and she has to sleep sometime. So she closes her eyes and takes a breath and pushes the papers aside – they crackle angrily at her in response.

She gets home to a mostly dark apartment. Henry apparently has already gone to bed and David – is she supposed to call him _Charming_ now? – too. But Mary Margret, of course, sits there in the kitchen by a candle doing nothing but waiting for her to come home – come home after twenty-eight years of separation – and talk and catch up and make up for lost time.

Emma feels sick to her stomach.

She ducks her head and dodges Mary Margret's smile and warm gaze. She feels it on her face, though, calm, never wavering, never uncertain. Mary Margret has spent the past years not knowing she even had a daughter. Emma has spent her entire life alone. It's like the curse was never broken; it was just replaced. Somehow Emma feels like it'd be easier to go back and fight another dragon. She'd rather be a hero, strong and independent - on her own - than being burdened with nothing but the prospect of emotional work and work.

"Who am I?" she asks, finally raising her face and looking Mary Margret straight in the eye. "And who are you? Are we…. What are we?"

"We're a family." Mary Margret answers without hesitation. Her cheeks glow despite the darkness. _The fairest of them all_, Emma thinks with a good portion of bitterness. _Do I even resemble her at all?_

She huffs and puts down her bag in the corner. She takes a few steps towards the kitchen table. Maybe she's drawn to Mary Margret. Maybe she wants to have this conversation. She longed for a mom to take her into her arms and care. Or maybe – maybe she's just a moth fluttering towards and around the light of the candle.

Regardless, as soon as she's in reach there are strong arms around her neck and Mary Margret's cheek is pressed to hers.

"I haven't seen you grow up." she hears her say into her hair. Then two hands cup both her cheeks and she can't keep her eyes open and face Mary Margaret. She can't.

"I want to be a family. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry I haven't seen you grow up. I wish I could go back in time and stroke your cheek and kiss your hair and be there for you. I wish we would have had the chance to build castles out of sand and I could paint your face with soapy bubbles as you're splashing water everywhere. I wish I could go back and laugh with you until our abs ache and my cheeks are sore. I wish I could go back and teach you how to tie your shoes."

Emma doesn't really hear the words. It's too much. She takes a step back and breathes a couple of times.

"Yea," she says, voice low so she won't wake up Henry. "But you can't. I don't even know you."

The smile on Mary Margret's face disappears but not for long. Her eyes stay strong and Emma wonders how she does that. Maybe it's because she grew up being loved. Maybe that's the difference between Mary Margret's eyes and Regina's. Emma wonders, somewhere in the back of her mind, what her own eyes look like to others – and whom she resembles more.

Blood?

Or experience?

But Mary Margret nods. "I know," she gulps. "I know I can't make up for what we've lost. But I want to know you. You're my daughter and I've never stopped loving you."

Well, she did, technically. Emma is not cruel enough to remind her, though.

She's not strong enough, not generous enough to give Mary Margret something to hold on to, either. So she does what she's actually been taught by parents, or whatever came close: she deflects.

_Sometimes_, she thinks, _love alone, love from afar, is not enough_.

.

Only a few blocks away, Regina sits in Henry's empty room and thinks not about love but death. She thinks about turning furniture to dust, erasing every memory.

It's futile, she knows. It's never worked in the past – erasure. It feels like she's filling holes with air. Every time she grabs a handful she creates another vacuum and doesn't accomplish anything. And she'd stop. She'd stop anytime if she'd only find one plan that worked.

That's what she tells herself, at least.

She thinks of Snow and Emma and how happy they must be right now. Envy churns her stomach – envy and pure rage. They don't deserve that. They haven't worked for it like she has. Life has blessed them where it has cursed Regina.

She thinks of what they must be doing right now; she pictures the reunited family, all four of them, at the kitchen table in Snow's apartment, laughing, drinking hot chocolate with cinnamon, bonding over little nothings that they have in common and how it's like they're meant to be together, forever. She pictures Emma ruffling Henry's hair and how they declare their love for each other.

She pictures Charming putting his arms around the woman he loves, holding her in his warm embrace, securely. It's a promise, a promise to always keep the family together, to always love all of them, to never leave.

She pictures Henry being doubled over with laughter over a silly joke Snow made.

She pictures them not thinking of her.

Regina doesn't matter.

Never has.

She blinks away the heavy thoughts and unfreezes and wishes for her visions of Daniel to come back. A hand slides in her pocket, but comes up empty.

She gave away that ring and got nothing in return.

It's like she's always investing everything she has and she's doomed to not have anything. Each bargain she makes with Rumple or the laws of nature takes away more from her than she gets out of it. She opens her mouth and they take her voice. She opens her heart and they grab at the muscle. She offers a hand and they rip off her arm.

Her life is one big misinvestment.

And yet, she thinks, maybe she's still not given her all. Maybe if she makes one last deal she'll get Henry back. She can't hurt Emma or Snow or Charming. Her son would never forgive her. And love potions don't work on children. What Regina needs is a way to get rid of her baggage without Henry finding out it was her. What Regina needs is a magic so well disguised that it cannot be tracked back to her. What Regina needs is an evil greater than herself. A spell that's outside of her control.

A spell that's spoken by someone else.

She wipes at her eyes and makes a decision. This time she will give it all. This time she will succeed. She'll get her happy ending.

This time it'll be enough.


	3. Chapter 2: Good

**Chapter 2: Good**

Emma hasn't slept well last night, yet when she gets a call from Henry she finds herself wide awake.

"You need to come. They're going to kill my mom." she hears his voice pleading through the phone and rolls from the couch to her feet. Nothing like a little uprising to start the day.

Emma is not a morning person, but she'll be damned if she were to let Henry down. So she jump-starts her brain, pops in a gum and promises: "I'll be right over."

"Come fast." she hears before she puts the phone away and rushes through the door.

She hears the turmoil long before she gets to Regina's mansion and what she sees when she arrives makes her question her own sanity. There at the property line stands almost everyone she's ever seen in Storybrooke and they're holding pitchforks and torches - not the metaphorical kind - and they're shouting and attacking the vines surrounding the premises.

"Come out, you coward! Show yourself!"

"You will suffer for what you've done!"

"She needs to die!"

Those are the people she's grown close to, the people she thought she'd know by now. Those are the people she was supposed to save, because they're good – by the definition of Henry's book.

And yet here they are, on a witch-hunt – not the metaphorical kind – like bloodthirsty monsters.

Emma is torn, like she's always been torn since the first day she set foot into Storybrooke. She thinks of Regina taking her family, forcing Mary Margret to give her up, putting Emma in a position where she couldn't care for Henry – just to claim him to herself. And she understands those people's anger. It'd be so easy to lash out at Regina like everyone else, to lose herself in thoughts of rage.

But she also thinks of Henry, of Henry and his pleading voice and how it'd hurt him if anything happened to his mom. She thinks how the first lesson she'd teach the boy would be revenge. She thinks of how that would be a lesson Regina would teach him, too.

She inhales deeply and searches the crowd for Mary Margret or David. More than anything right now, Henry needs her to be the hero. If she wants to be a mom she needs to be worthy. Emma needs to be someone Henry can look up to.

At least for now Regina's magic seems to work and the shield she summoned to protect herself withstands fire and forks. It'll buy Emma some time.

Then Henry is running towards her.

"We need to do something, before someone gets hurt." he insists. Emma admires his dedication. She admires his willpower, his inner strength. He looks at her and feels her heart melt immediately. His eyes are strong, always unwavering, never uncertain.

In a way, Emma thinks, she's indebted to Regina. She raised Henry to be all that. She raised him to be this quirky, clever, self-confident boy. She took care of Henry when Emma couldn't. She took him in and cared for him and gave him a home – no matter how much she lied and what else she did to keep everyone beneath her, in the end Emma knows Henry had it better than she had it.

To her that's all that counts.

One of the vines untangles itself from the rest and lashes out at Whale, who's sent flying all the way across the street. Mother Superior immediately drops her torch and runs after him. Everyone else is stunned for a second; then the pack regroups and restarts the attacks.

"You're right." Emma nods in Henry's direction. "We need to do something - and fast."

.

Regina sits in her office and is currently otherwise occupied.

Because before her stands Rumplestiltskin, smug smile on his face, one of her apples in his hand.

"What do you want this time?" he demands.

Regina licks her teeth. She hates the man, hates the beast he has become, hates everything he stands for. And yet he seems to be the only one powerful enough to help her out occasionally – which is another reason to hate his guts. No one should be more powerful than her.

She's not the fairest of them all. She deserves to be the strongest.

"What do you think I want?" she snaps back, eyes piercing him viciously. "I want to make a deal."

He just stands there and grins. "I'm listening." His voice is sweet like honey, but of course it's also drained in poison.

"I want you to summon a fiend that can't be tracked back to me. I want you to summon a monster that's outside of my control. I want you to summon a darkness that will swallow Emma and Snow and Charming and then leave tracks to someone else."

He takes a step forward and cocks his head and raises his brows. His eyes are suddenly sparkling with an intrigued kind of blackness.

"You want me to summon Seymour."

And Regina sucks on her lower lip, not to think, just to wet it, and after a second answers: "Yes." She knows it's risky. She knows she shouldn't make another deal. She knows she has no other choice.

"Well." Rumpelstiltskin chirps. "I could do that."

Furrowing her eyebrows Regina asks: "Could? What do you mean 'could'?"

He takes another step forward and it's annoying how much spring there is in his step, like he's amused by Regina's bad mood; like he's annoying her on purpose.

He probably is.

"Yes, Dearie," he says. "I _could_. But I won't. Because you have nothing to offer me in return." He's smiling now, taking satisfaction in her fury. He loves that he's more powerful than her – the evil queen who everyone fears. He loves that his evil is greater than hers, yet he's not hated to the same extent. When it comes down to it, she will always be the villain in Storybrooke.

"Everything you ever held dear was taken from you," he continues. "You can't offer me anything, because there's nothing left to offer. You do not have anything I could possibly want, because you do not have anything at all. I don't want your house and I don't want your magic. You're just a pathetic little fool who thinks she can trick people; as if anyone would ever believe whatever hit them was not summoned by you! You're weak, Regina. Give it up."

His words sting, because they're true.

"Then why did you come here?" Regina spits out.

He grins, flashing black teeth. "To bathe in your failure, Dearie." He wipes the apple at his jacket and puts it down on the edge of her desk. "I wanted you to ask me a favor and I wanted to turn you down." He snickers. She rages. He sounds delighted when he speaks up again: "That was even more fun than I expected."

Regina jumps from her chair into his direction, willing to strangle him with bare hands if she must, but before she can reach him, he's gone and she's grabbing air. His mean giggle echoes through the room.

She's furious. And clueless. And just so… weak. She wonders why she's destined to feel so small and why everybody else's curses sent into her direction seem to work, but hers always fail. She wonders what her purpose is if she can't even be evil properly.

That's when she hears the noises from outside.

She steps to the window and scoffs when she sees one Emma Swan, standing on the roof of her own car, in nothing but her pajamas and a leather jacket, pleading to the citizens of Storybrooke.

This woman is a true hero – the textbook definition. She'll always try her best to win over people's hearts and she'll always go the righteous road. She'll always try and see things from an objective point of view – should one exist – and consider different points of views and not judge anyone; not even Regina.

How great it must be to live on the light side of life, where fate works to your advantage and it doesn't seem ridiculous to hold a speech in your pajamas, because you're the hero. And everybody believes that you'll succeed, no matter what. Everybody believes in you and your goodness. Everybody trusts that you will make the right decision.

Regina's smirk falters at the thought. But she opens the window. If there's a chance that Emma Swan will make an idiot out of herself, she's not going to miss out on that.

"Please listen to me," she hears Emma plead. "You need to stop."

Just for good measure Regina lets another vine lash out – not at Emma, because she's actually entertained by the scene – but at Grumpy. She never liked dwarves very much anyway. She knocks him on the head and he's forced to his knees, but recovers quickly, while Emma continues her speech:

"You'll just hurt yourselves." she yells and Regina is inclined to agree. "Please, just listen for a few seconds." Slowly the attacks stop and – _of course_ – Emma manages to get their attention like the good hero she is.

"I know you're all angry for what Regina has done to you. I'm angry, too. We all suffered consequences which we don't know how to deal with. But revenge won't make that go away." Now that more and more people start to listen to her, Emma stands up straight with confidence.

"We can't let that anger get the best of us. It'll only turn us all into her."

Behind her window, Regina winces.

"We'll only be consumed by hatred and then when we've gotten our revenge, we'll still have to deal. We won't have accomplished anything. Nothing will change for the better if that happens. We'll only have blood on our hands. You're all good people. You're so much better than this."

The crowd has quieted down now entirely and Regina's grinding her teeth.

"Let's get back to work. Let's try and get our lives back. Let's deal. And then we'll find a way to deal with Regina, but not like this."

"Then what are _you_ going to do?" someone yells back at Emma. It sounds like an accusation.

_Good question_, thinks Regina.

_Good question_, thinks Emma, up on the roof of her car with everyone's eyes on her. She doesn't feel very heroic and her pajamas barely count as armor. It used to be hard to care for herself. It's even harder to be burdened with the responsibility of being everyone's knight. And it's not like she can just fight her baggage with a sword.

In the crowd she spots Mary Margaret and David and Henry and she focuses on them. Their eyes are strong, as always, and now full of pride. No one has ever looked like that at Emma – like they are proud just to know her, just to be able to say "That woman is related to me!". But Mary Margaret looks like that – like she'd jump forward any second and hug the daylight out of Emma and smother her with love and love; like she believes that Emma can do anything, anything she sets her mind to.

Emma feels sick to her stomach.

"I'll find a way. I've broken the curse and I'll find a solution for this, too. But you need to calm down so no one gets hurt. Please, just let it go for now until I have a plan."

And although Emma doesn't really believe herself, yet, her words seem to have calmed the crowd. Slowly people start to dissipate and head home. Emma is stunned it actually worked.

She sighs, exhausted despite the fact that it's not even noon, and climbs down from the car and doesn't see how Regina slams the window shut and she doesn't hear Regina's curses. She doesn't know that for a villain not to be fought equals being defeated.


	4. Chapter 3: Invincible

**A/N:** Happy election day. Make it count!

Did anyone else cry tears and snot when Daniel came back? Because I did.

* * *

**Chapter 3: Invincible**

"Daniel, wait!"

The grass is green and wet with dew beneath Rupert's bare feet. He's running as fast as his legs will carry him, but Daniel is too swift and Rupert too clumsy in comparison. He slips and falls a couple of times and his knees are already tinged green and brown. His fingers are red and _so_ cold.

But he's a valiant little boy and he won't cry, even though it hurts. And he won't show his disappointment that he's losing to Daniel again and again; that he can never keep up.

When he reaches the edge of the cliff and stumbles into Daniel, breathing hard, his friend laughs.

"Rupert, look!"

In the distance they see a castle on a hill and the sun rising behind it. Golden rays of light sneak out at the outlines and illuminate the giant building until it glows before a perfectly blue sky. In the valley the fog dissipates, reveals their village.

And Rupert is speechless for the first time in his short life.

"Wow." he gasps and Daniel laughs again. "Isn't it wonderful?"

Rupert just nods, mouth still hanging open – until he remembers himself.

"But Daniel, how did you find this place?"

The question earns him a smug grin. Daniel rests his palm against the tall tree next to him and raises his chin with pride.

"I went through the Enchanted Forest."

And Rupert gasps again. "But Daniel," he all but whispers, as if they could be heard by anyone, "we're not allowed to go in there. Mother always warns me about the dangers. She says it's full of mythical creatures and that they hunt people. She says there are wolves and dark fairies and dwarves."

"Oh, don't be such a coward." Daniel counters, though he's well aware of the punishment he'd have to expect should his own parents find out. "Just look at what I've found! You'll never get anywhere if you don't learn to see past your own boundaries."

Rupert purses his lips and thinks. Daniel has a point; that much he can admit. But is it really worth the risk?

"I'm not a coward." he finally states and Daniel snickers at his friend. "And I'm not telling, either."

Daniel swings his arm around the other boy. "I know." he says. "Because you're my friend."

"Yes." Rupert nods at Daniel. He admires his adventurous heart and his fearlessness. Rupert has never dared to disobey his parents, has never dared to go anywhere without permission. He's not a coward. He's just careful.

"One day," He leans into Daniel and together they look at the castle and the sun and the sky and the valley – the houses and farmers and animals so small. "One day I will find a place like this before you do."

And Daniel laughs again, not to mock his friend, because he'd never laugh at Rupert. "Of course!" he cheers. "Of course you will! And until then we'll find our adventures together. Because together, Rupert, together we're invincible."

.

Regina roams through her bedroom, restless, and thinks and thinks of what she's lost and what she doesn't want to think about.

She thinks of Henry and how he's not sleeping in his bed and how he doesn't come home to her after school and how they don't have dinner together and how he won't leave his shoes lying around on the steps and how she won't be tripping over them anymore.

She thinks of how big the house is and how there's no one to talk to. She thinks of how no one fears her enough to obey her, come serve her. She thinks about how her thoughts are the only thing to keep her company. She doesn't even have her mirror.

And she thinks of Daniel.

"Regina," he would say. "I'm so happy you exist." She thinks of how it was so easy to believe him. She remembers how they'd meet on their hill under their tree and how he'd enclose his arms around her. She thinks of how he'd encourage her to be more, to be herself, to be in so many ways she never knew possible. She longs for nothing but to get his safety back and it stings like pins and needles knowing it'll never happen. Things will never go back to the way they were.

_Who am I now?_

A furious howl echoes through the halls and her voice breaks light bulbs, sucks the colour from the apples on her kitchen table, drains the water from all flowers in the house. It's like she pulls at her own organs and squeezes, squeezes and pokes and scratches until she's found a way to make them stop aching. She's bursting, slowly.

And she thinks of Daniel flush against her, holding her tight and peppering her face with soft kisses.

Quicksand is filling her lungs; she feels the swelling, feels the pressure, feels it creep through all her veins until it nests in her brain, too. It's making her insane.

With nothing but rage on her mind, rage pressing hard against her skin, rage poisoning her breath, she storms out of her mansion. She's going to take what she wants. She's going to take what she needs. She's going to be powerful again and not even Henry's judging eyes can stop her anymore.

.

In the Town Hall Emma finds herself in a very familiar position: She's pleading to the people of Storybrooke to keep their temper, trying to rationalize them, trying to keep them from doing something stupid.

Luckily this time she's fully dressed.

Still, she feels the pressure.

David interrupts a heated argument between Granny and Ruby: "I couldn't protect my family from Regina's curse, but I will do anything to protect them now. Regina must be stopped."

And Emma thinks that his heroism is less charming than it is counter-productive. The crowd cheers for their prince, of course. It stings, knowing that he's talking about her, how he wants to make up for not being there in the past, yet at the same time he's undermining her authority. It's getting harder and harder for her to think clearly, to talk sense into these people. And if she's being honest with herself, she's never had a plan to begin with – other than keeping everyone alive.

"If you want to keep Henry save," she says, glaring at him "then protect your own life." The other words, words about how she's waited too long to get to know her parents just to have them ripped away again, words about what a selfish plan it is to declare war on Regina when there's still war at home, bitter words about twenty-eight years of having no family to protect her lie on the tip of her tongue, but she swallows them all. This is not the time for an emotional outburst.

The heavy double wing doors fly open and Emma whips her head around just in time to see Regina march in with a condescending smirk on her face. She doesn't say anything, not when Emma asks her what she wants, not when David runs towards her with a warrior's roar, not as she freezes him on the spot with a swift motion of her hand.

The dwarfs duck behind their chairs, Mary Margaret yells at Regina to let go off David, Red lets out a growl that sends a cold shiver down Emma's spine and then everything is happening at once.

Granny breaks a chair and equips herself with a self-made stake, Mother Superior shoos a few people out as Emma walks to face Regina. Someone must have lit a fire, because suddenly the sprinklers go off and everyone is drained in water. Emma hears a sneeze and a snore and knows that at least the dwarfs are ok. But David is still frozen and Ruby has quite some trouble holding Granny back from a kamikaze manoeuvre.

"What do you want?" Emma repeats, but doesn't receive an answer. Instead Regina unleashes darkness.

Chairs fly and crash into walls and people; Emma hears someone scream, but can't see anything. "Watch out!" Mary Margaret shouts, before Emma is pushed into a wall. She ducks and squints and curses and can't do anything but crawl forward in the hopes of finding _someone. _She's not a warrior like David and even he has proven useless. She's not a hero, at least not outside of Henry's world – not in her own heart. She wishes for the metaphors to come back.

And she's tired. She's so tired of everything always happening at once and with _so_ much force. It's like Regina's darkness comes from within Emma's own mind. It's like her own confusion, anger and frustration are seeping out of her pores; she's breathing out blackness and it's taking over everything. Her vision blurs, her thoughts are heavy, her fingers are numb and she's tired – _so_ tired. Her arms give in and then she's just lying there – lying there thinking about failure and disappointment and being alone. She's sad about a loss she never experienced, sad about the son she never truly had, sad about growing up under the pressure of never being allowed to be herself. She thinks that those are not her memories, but right this moment it's her pain. She's angry; she's desperate; she just wants to be free.

.

When Emma wakes up everyone's gone and her head is pounding.

"Are you alright?" She barely hears the woman's voice at first. She blinks a few times until she can see clearly, at least. Someone grabs her arm and pulls her to her feet.

"I have no idea what happened here, but maybe you should go see a doctor?"

But she doesn't feel like she's hurt. "Where is everyone?" she wonders out loud, pressing her palm to her temple. It's only then that she realizes she's still wet from head to toe and her clothes stick grossly to her skin. At least the torrents have stopped.

"No one was here when I arrived."

Finally Emma faces her... saviour? It's a woman a little older than herself, a little shorter, too; black hair, black eyes, someone she's never seen before.

"I'm Vanessa," she says. "Maybe I should take you home?"

Emma nods. As badly as she wants to find out what happened, she figures she won't accomplish anything in the state she's in. And she could really use a change of clothing. She stumbles forward, still weak on her feet, and Vanessa catches her.

Then Mary Margaret comes running towards them. "Emma, are you ok?" She practically throws herself at Emma, pulling her towards her, pulling her arm around her own shoulder for support.

"Yea. Yea, I'm fine." Emma tries to pull herself free, but stumbles right back into Mary Margret's arms. "Where is everyone?"

But Mary Margret just shakes her head. "We'll find out." she says before acknowledging Vanessa. "And who are you?"

"I'm Vanessa."

Vanessa shrugs awkwardly and takes a step back as Mary Margret aids Emma to take her first steps towards the exit.

"I was on my way to Boston."

Emma almost doesn't hear the words. She's still confused, still dizzy and weak. The remnants of those thoughts that aren't hers are clouding her mind and it's hard to breathe and hard to walk, even with Mary Margaret's help. She only manages one sentence: "What was that?"

Mary Margaret's lips are tight. She knows Regina better than anyone else in Storybrooke, knows best what drives her, knows her anger and its source. "Magic." she states, simply. "What you felt was Regina's magic. Don't let it get to you. Those aren't your emotions. They're hers."

The dryness of her voice suggests she knows what she's talking about, so Emma focuses on letting go. She tries to forget, forget the loss she never experienced, the anger that rose from it, the hurt and the wish to regain control. She focuses on taking steps, tiny ones, getting out of here. And it's exhausting. She barely hears it when Mary Margaret says: "If you were on your way to Boston, I suggest you leave. This place isn't safe – not for strangers, not for anyone."

What she doesn't hear, what not even Mary Margaret hears, is Vanessa's response: "Well, yeah. _So_ nice to meet you."

.

In her mansion Regina feels like she's about to burst – with power not with rage this time.

And she uses all her darkness to turn furniture black and grey. And she uses all the sand that has been filling up her lungs to cut the earth around her residence. A storm comes up and lifts soil and stone and grass and forms a hill. And she uses her bitterness to shift bricks and walls and crack wood and cut glass.

She'll need more room, room for her inferiors, little ants that will be working for her from now on. And she'll need space for all her might. She's a queen, after all, and now she's claiming back her spot.

The thunder in her manic laughter calls dark clouds that soon surround her castle. A strange satisfaction fills her finally and lightning strikes and strikes again.

This place shall burst, burst with magic, burst with her. And everybody will obey her. And everything she ever wanted will come true.

Because with magic – with magic she's invincible.


	5. Chapter 4: Together

**Chapter 4: Together**

"Are you leaving?"

Rupert is standing in the open door to Daniel's room. There's a bag hanging over Daniel's shoulder, his bed is made, and there are items missing from the shelf. Rupert presses his lips together and thinks. He's known the man forever and catching him sneak out nearly breaks his heart.

"That's not like you, Daniel." His voice is calm, but heavy with hurt, still. "How can you betray me like that? How can you just leave without saying goodbye? I never pegged you for being such a coward."

The bag comes sliding off Daniel's shoulder and his gaze finds the floor. He's obviously ashamed of himself.

"I'm sorry." he says. "I didn't know how to tell you."

"Tell me what exactly?" Rupert is now enraged. Disappointment weighs his heart down and his voice trembles. "That you're running away? Where are you going anyway? How will you get away? Are you taking Regina with you? You know exactly that her mother will never let her go."

Daniel scuffs one foot, eyebrows furrowed. He's thinking.

"I'm in love, Rupert." he insists. "And maybe we won't make it, but I have to try. Here, we can never truly be together."

"Yes." Rupert has never been a man of many words. "But is it worth it?" Then after a short pause, before Daniel can answer: "No, I mean, of course it's worth it. But do you even have a chance?"

And Daniel? Daniel sinks to his knees.

"I don't know." And he sobs, genuinely sobs and it's the first time that Rupert has ever seen his friend cry openly. He kneels down next to Daniel and puts his arm around him.

"You know I believe in you." Daniel nods. "Maybe you could stay just a little while longer. Maybe we can work out a plan together. Because together we're invincible, right?"

Daniel wipes away his tears. He doesn't believe Rupert, doesn't think that his plan could be better than any other. But his heart tells him to hope and to trust and to love. And even he can't believe his words, he can believe in Rupert.

"You're right, my friend. 'Together' should have been my first thought. We'll find a way."

.

The air is thick with tension at Granny's.

Not twenty-four hours have passed since Regina abducted half of Storybrooke and locked herself in her castle. Ever since then the sky hasn't cleared up again. Dark clouds hang above Regina's grounds and thunder reminds everyone of her wrath against them.

It's quiet in the little Inn.

Everybody has suffered loss here. Everybody feels the pressure. Everybody wants to point fingers and knows it's of no use.

David sits by Mary Margaret's side, his face buried in his palms. The four remaining dwarfs stand by the bar. Granny herself is gone and Ruby sits behind the counter and feels like whimpering. Instead she scuffs her foot.

Emma has slumped into a corner and thinks – just thinks. Because Regina took Henry.

"So what are you going to do now?" Whale hisses into her direction and Emma feels everyone's blaming eyes on her. "Listening to you was the worst thing we could have done. You're responsible for this."

Emma doesn't object. She was so dead set on finding a peaceful solution that she forgot that that's not how Regina approaches things. She wanted to keep everyone safe and instead got them that much deeper into trouble. Before she didn't have a plan. Now she's none the wiser, but people are missing.

Whale finally stands up and approaches Emma; his teeth and fists are clenched. "You did this to us." he spits out. Emma is already on her feet when Mary Margaret jumps in the way.

"Leave her alone. She only did what she thought best for all of us. And where exactly would your blind attacks have led us? Emma was trying to save your life, too."

He sneers, but lets it go.

"No, he's right." Everybody turns to look at Emma, who's now standing up straight, not with confidence, but with the will to face whatever will be thrown at her. "Waiting was the wrong decision. We need to get our friends back." She looks at Mary Margret. "I need to get Henry back. It's time for an attack. But we need a strategy."

"So what are we going to do?" Ruby asks and there's no accusation in her voice. She's exhausted just like Emma and Emma thinks that taming her wolf may have taught her to stay rational. The beast within herself is still waiting for its master.

"Right now Regina thinks she's safe. I think we should use that to our advantage and take her by surprise."

There are a few agreeing sounds in the group. Then Ruby interjects: "Yes, but there won't be any surprises if we won't get past her barrier."

"That is correct." Emma contemplates for a second, then continues: "We need an opening. Then Stealthy can lead the way into the castle."

The dwarfs exchange looks before Grumpy speaks up: "Stealthy… he…" Right that moment a chair falls over and Stealthy stumbles to the floor, then knocks his head on the edge of a table on his way back up. "I'm not stealthy anymore." he finally announces sadly. As if to prove his point he walks a few steps towards Emma. Every step causes the floor to creak loudly.

"What? What happened?" Mary Margret asks and places her hand on her friend's shoulder. But he just shrugs. "It happened shortly after Regina's attack. From one moment to the next it was physically impossible for me to be quiet. My axe broke, too. I guess from now on I'll be Noisy." He sits back down with a dull thud and slumps his shoulders and receives a sympathetic pat on the back from both Grumpy and Sleepy.

Emma wipes her palm across her face. "Ok." she declares, although nothing's ok really and the only plan she had was foiled before they even started. "Ok." She breathes.

"I'm pretty swift on my paws." Ruby says. "And I can sense another person's presence long before they come into sight. I bet I could get past guards unnoticed, if Regina has any."

But Whale is not satisfied: "What are we going to do anyway?"

The question hangs in the air for a moment. Emma clicks her tongue. Her headaches never vanished, partly because she wasn't able to sleep after the incident in the Town Hall, and the remnants of Regina's magic press down on her; it's like quicksand is filling her veins, creeping up into her mind and settling there, creating pressure and darkness.

She blinks a few times and looks around the Inn. These are her friends and in some twisted reality her family, too. She doesn't trust all of them, she doesn't even like a lot of them, but the feeling's mutual and it's not like anyone's got a choice but to rely on each other. Plus, she'd really like to have a few days of quiet with her new found relatives. Maybe she could have an actual conversation with David sometime. She wonders, though - wonders why Regina's curses seem to always end up in alienation and loneliness and why Emma is always the one suffering the consequences. She never asked for any of this. She just wants to be free.

"We're going to take back our people."

.

It's easier to hide in darkness.

Regina doesn't compete for spotlight. She doesn't compete, because she doesn't need to. She's entitled to it.

That's what she tells herself, at least.

In reality she knows that she always loses competitions. She's never been anyone's priority and she's never been the best at anything. Daniel was an exception – a blissful phase in her life that she loves and loathes all at once. It's a wicked dichotomy she lives in, because a part of her wants to cherish this gift she received: love. She wants to wrap it up and lock it away somewhere safe and bring it back whenever she needs to, whenever she feels like the walls are closing in on her and insanity is taking over. She remembers Daniel's loving eyes, calm and sure. He'd encourage her.

But she also wants to forget. Sometimes she thinks it'd be easier to live without these dreadful memories, knowing she can never turn back time and do things over.

Sometimes she thinks about which memories she would erase – how far would she have to go back to make her life worth living?

If she'd bring back Daniel, what would it really change? Her mother would still be holding her captive, forcing her to marry someone else.

Would it be enough to go back and let Snow's horse pass her by? But the old Regina would never have done that. She was young and naïve and full of hope, blinded by love.

And what if she could talk sense into her father? Would he stand up to Cora if he got a second chance?

She thinks of endless conversations with him, of unspoken words between the lines. She thinks of how he'd let her down each time she begged for help. She thinks of how he loved her, but not enough; he failed to protect her from his wife.

_Sometimes_, she thinks, _love alone is not enough._

In the end his desire to remain impartial would always end up being to her detriment. His safety was more important to him than hers. What a father he was! No. She gave him enough chances.

She walks through dark halls, heels clicking on black tiles. Her castle is a fort; blackness guards her from all threats – threats like Emma, Snow and truth. She passes doors – prison cells – and smirks in satisfaction. They'll learn to treat her with respect.

In the end she always comes to the same conclusion: Traveling back in time wouldn't accomplish much, for there'd always be her mother – her mother and her judgments and her force.

And if she'd never come to Storybrooke, she'd never have gotten Henry. She'd never have those precious moments with him, before Snow gave him that book; before he learned to speak his mind. She hears him laugh, sometimes. At least with Henry there's still time to get it right.

She enters her laboratory, the place where from now on she'll be working her magic. She grabs an amulet, made of silver, a glass of powdered spider legs, one of her beloved apples, a handful of sundried worms and the candle made of… no, it's missing. She must have used it already. Maybe snakeskin will work as substitute.

She mixes the ingredients in her kettle and stirs and is inclined to laugh. It feels good, being powerful again. Lying and scheming and plotting are exhausting, so letting all of that go is a relief. Somewhere in the back of her mind she's aware of that she's trading one shell for another – a hurting one for darkness. But her entire life's a compromise so she might as well drag others down with her, beneath her, even.

The kettle steams with purple puffs and Regina pours the potion into a flask and sets it aside for it to cool down. It's a convincing spell she's about to perform and the prospect makes her smirk devilishly.

.

"I'm proud of you." Mary Margaret smiles fondly at Emma, who averts her eyes immediately. "You can be proud of yourself."

David agrees. "You've proven quite some tenacity and patience."

They're acting like parents, like parents who never gave up their child in order to save their kingdom and themselves. They love her and encourage her as if there weren't twenty-eight years of asking 'why'.

Emma had always figured that she had been an accident.

David places his hand on her shoulder and she feels his eyes on her but doesn't look up. "I know this is hard for you." he says. "It's not easy for us, either. But you're doing a great job." She hears him smile and wipes at her eyebrows.

"I don't need your approval." she states. "What I need is a way to get through to Regina. What I need is to know that my son is safe." Anger bubbles up in her throat, but she tries to keep her voice calm. It's not the time to fight and she'll need all her strength for the true battle. She'll need to be a hero.

"That's not what I meant." David takes a step back and looks at Mary Margaret for support. He's never been good with words. He knows how to use a sword and he knows how to lead. Maybe, he thinks, if he'd been able to grow into his role as a father, he'd be better at it now. He used to imagine teaching Emma how to hold a sword and how to fight. Or maybe she'd be a better archer? He always dreamed about passing on everything he learned at war. He imagined everything they could explore together, all the adventures they'd go on as a family. Emma was supposed to grow up as a princess. Now he grieves for the sound of tiny feet running – running too fast through castle halls. He mourns over the loss of laughter echoing from every wall. Emma would have become a feared warrior, a loyal heir to the throne, a brave leader and a wise queen.

David knows this, because the woman that's standing in front of him now has already become all that and more.

His mouth opens and closes, but he figures there's nothing for him to accomplish right now. He'll let his wife be his wits once again and retreat for now.

He nods and leaves his daughter with her mother, and hopes to find better words next time.

"We'll get Henry back." Mary Margaret promises. "We're going to take back everything we lost." But even she knows that that's impossible. She was deprived of the family she always wanted, too.

"I always wondered," Emma sighs "Why you'd given me up for adoption. And then Henry was born and I couldn't keep him and I thought I understood. I spent so much time being angry at you and at the world for treating me like an outcast, like someone who doesn't belong here."

Mary Margaret's hand twitches.

"But I thought I understood, because I couldn't keep Henry, either. I gave him away so he'd have a chance to grow up with fit parents. And then I come here and I have to find out that that was a lie; that you gave me up for everyone else's sake, not mine. The truth is that the world treated me like an outcast, because that's what I am. I really don't belong here. But I don't belong in your world, either. I don't belong anywhere."

She runs the back of her hand over her eyes and just stands there, because there's nothing else to do.

And then there they are again: Strong arms around her neck, holding her tight. She never even realized that that's what she wanted – that she'd been crying the entire time. It's like she's been missing them her entire life and now that she has them she doesn't know how to accept them. Did she have to be on her own, work her way towards Storybrooke, so she deserves to be protected? Is that how family works? Emma doesn't know. She doesn't know how exactly a family works, but she's pretty sure that the concept of sticking together through thick and thin is big part of the experience. She never had any of that.

But Mary Margaret's arms are around her neck and she's not letting go. "When I found out I was pregnant," she says and Emma can hear her voice tremble, too "I was overwhelmed by joy. I wanted you more than I ever wanted anything else in the world. And then I had to give you up. I know you're hurting, but please believe me, Emma, that in the few short seconds I had you, you were the most wonderful thing that's ever happened to me. You still are."

It's not even that Emma doesn't believe her – she does. "I don't know how to deal with any of that." she says, but finally wraps her arms around Mary Margaret as well, and if it's just to hold on to something that will make her feel less abstract.

And Mary Margaret takes a deep breath. "Me, neither." she admits. "But I'd like it if we could find a way together. Tell me what you need. I'll do anything."

Emma steps back and again wipes at her eyes. "For a start," she says "I need your support in getting Henry back and to end this craziness."

"You have my support already." Mary Margaret responds. She reaches out again, but only to place her hand on Emma's shoulder this time. She ducks her head to catch Emma's gaze. "Together we'll find a way."

.

Henry sits in his new bedroom, far up in the eastern tower of Regina's castle and stares at the wall across the room. He understands that his mother loves him. What he doesn't understand is the way she tends to show affection. He just figures that that's how evil people love.

The door opens and Regina enters. She smiles at Henry and he just stares back heart clenches at the sight, but she steps closer nonetheless and sits down on his bed next to him.

"Hey." she tries. He doesn't say anything.

"Are you hungry?" she asks. "I could make you something – anything you want." She ducks her head to catch his gaze and he responds: "Why am I here?"

Regina is confused by the question. She thought her motives were obvious. "So we could spend time together." she explains. But Henry just sighs. "You could have just asked me."

And she furrows her brows. "But you would have said no." It's not even a question. Regina would never ask, because she's too afraid of the answer.

"So this is your solution?"

Again, Regina doesn't understand, because, of course this _is_ her solution. Why else would Henry be here? He sighs again.

"And why did you imprison everyone else?" Regina is silent for a while and looks at Henry, at the boy she loves so much. He's smart and quirky; he's everything she always wanted him to be and more. She wishes nothing more than to be able to win him over.

"They're trying to kill me." she says and it's only half a lie, because they did try to invade her home after her curse was broken. "I'm defending myself."

Of course Henry doesn't buy it. "You're using magic to protect your home. And Emma would never let anyone hurt you. Just let them go."

Hearing Henry talk about Emma stings. She stole him from her and now she gets to be his hero. "As you can see, I don't depend on Ms. Swan's good will." she states and almost bites her lip. She never meant to sound angry. "But I have to protect my life. You don't want me to die, do you?" And this time she does bite her lip, because she never meant to ask him that. There's a second in which she struggles to keep her posture, not let panic take over. She feels like running away before Henry gets the chance to respond.

Then he answers: "You're my mom." The relief is overwhelming. "But you can't keep everyone imprisoned. It's not right. Please, just let all of us go. Or are you really just The Evil Queen?"

Regina laughs a bitter laugh. "But Henry!" she exclaims. "Of course I am."

And Henry feels like he's always felt: He's on his own.

Regina sees the impassive expression on his face and knows the conversation is over. She'll try again, of course. She'll always try with him. It's not – it cannot be - possible that she's truly doomed to be just that:

Alone.


	6. Chapter 5: I Remember

**Chapter 5: I Remember**

"Are you sure this will work?"

Rupert is anything but sure about his plan, but he's proud to have come up with it. He's proud of his own bravery. He's proud to be able to contribute something to Daniel's happiness.

"I am." he confirms. "I will go into the Enchanted Forest. And I will find the Blue Fairy and get your blessing."

He clutches Daniel's letter tight.

"And when I come back, nothing will be able to part you two anymore."

Daniel is hesitant to send Rupert for him. He wanted to do it himself, but of course valiant Rupert wouldn't be convinced so easily. "Let me do this for you." he insisted. "Just this once, let me be the brave one." How could Daniel ever deny him that?

"I will go find Regina." He smiles at his friend. "I'm so grateful that you're willing to take on this risk for me. You know that I love you, right?" And Rupert nods, tersely. He's determined more than ever. And although he's afraid he won't back off. He will not disappoint Daniel. He will ensure his happiness.

He reaches out his hand and Daniel squeezes tight. "Together, remember?" Daniel laughs. "I do remember."

.

It's long past midnight and the moon is covered by dark clouds – the clouds Regina summoned. But the thunder stopped, so it's mainly dark – pitch black in fact.

The vines around Regina's castle are still now, like an alarm waiting to be triggered. Emma is as light on her toes as possible. Ruby – no, _Red_, she reminds herself – definitely beats her, though: The light breeze rustling through trees, whistling through blades of neatly cut grass and tugging at Emma's straw-colored hair blows louder than the sound Red creates whenever she touches the ground. Emma wonders if she does at all.

They had considered asking Gold – _Rumplestiltskin_ – but ultimately agreed that a deal would be their last solution, not their first option. And he'd never help them for free. Instead Snow and Emma woke Red in the dead of the night in order to sneak around Regina's property. They're searching for a weakness in her spell, a flaw in her magic: an entrance. And they figured their best shot to find Regina's witchcraft faint would be when the witch herself was sleeping.

Red tilts her head up in the sky. It's almost full moon and the urge to howl and run and run into the wilderness boils in her veins already. Her senses are sharp. She looks back at Snow and shakes her head: No threat in sight, no human odor creeping through the wind, no other sound audible than crickets singing their song like a hundred tiny violas.

But also, no weak spot in Regina's defense so far.

Snow – Snow, Emma tries to get used to that, too – Snow has her bow ready to be bent, an arrow already drawn from the shaft, just in case. Her expression is that of a warrior and Emma thinks that this is neither the woman she met when she first arrived in Storybrooke – the woman who'd pine over a married man and blame herself for mistakes she never made. Nor is she the princess who'd run from her step-mother to cry in the woods until a group of dwarfs would shelter her. This woman walking by her side is fierce, like someone she could be looking up to. Like someone she'd be proud to call her family.

Then Red stops and raises her hand for a halt, head cocked to the side and an ear pressed close to the living fence. Emma is inclined to ask, but knows better. "Footsteps. This way." And Red takes off, swiftly, soundlessly, fast like the wolf she is. Snow and Emma sneak after, slowly, careful not to make a noise.

They catch up where Red stopped, nostrils flaring. "Someone's here." she whispers and her eyes glow in the darkness. Her animalistic instincts are strong. Emma feels the heat pulsing through barely human flesh, radiating off Red and surrounding her like a halo. She looks around but can't see anyone. She can barely see across the street.

"Can you make out who it is?" Snow asks, but Red shakes her head and rushes away again.

Emma blinks and – what's that? A shadow moves not far from them – a person climbing out of the vines. Impossible! She runs. She runs and hears Red growl and sees her jump. The sound sends shivers down her spine. She sees the stranger run, or stumble, rather, onto the street. They fall together – Red and the shadow, and a bag with items of silver and gold and glass apparently falls with them. The objects scatter all across the pavement with a loud mingle of pitter-patter and clinking and clanking.

When she gets closer she makes out amulets and candles and flasks, some broken, some intact. There's what seems to be a wooden music box and a few gems of different colors and…

"Vanessa?" she furrows her eyebrows and walks to help the woman up. Red huffs. "You know each other?"

Vanessa stands and dusts off her dark jeans and leather jacket. "Kind of." Emma says.

"Not really." Vanessa corrects. "We met once."

"Are those Regina's?" Snow points at the various items on the ground and Vanessa breathes in deeply. "Yea." she states and there's not an ounce of remorse in her voice. She crosses her arms and looks expectantly at the trio in front of her.

"How did you get into the castle?" Red asks the obvious question.

"I walked." Vanessa shrugs. "Look. I'm just on my way through to Boston."

There's a pause and Emma finds it hard to believe the scene. "You walked? How did you get through the vines?"

And Vanessa shifts her eyes, as if in confusion, as if she didn't understand the question. "I… walked." she says and Snow pulls a face. "That's impossible." As if to prove her point she touches one of the vines. It lashes out at her immediately and she can barely dodge the attack. Vanessa purses her lips. "Well, I did." she insists and turns to retrieve her stolen goods.

Emma grabs her by the shoulder and receives an angry glare that would scare her if she was any weaker. "Those aren't yours."

Vanessa seems unimpressed. "They aren't yours, either, so what do you care?"

"You're right." Ruby has now positioned herself between Vanessa and the items. "We don't care about that." She gestures towards the ground. "What we do care about is how you managed to get past the barrier Regina has summoned to keep everyone out of her castle. What we do care about is how you managed to walk in there, steal from her, and walk out again unnoticed."

"So I can keep the stuff?"

"Unbelievable!" Emma and Snow exclaim in chorus.

Red stares, then blinks a few times. "You know what?" she finally decides. "Yes. Tell us how you got in and out of the castle and you can keep whatever," she kicks a candleholder and it rolls to Vanessa's feet. "Whatever you want."

And Vanessa furrows her brows. "Is that a promise?"

"Sure." Snow agrees. "We're not interested in some thief."

"Ok." comes the immediate answer. Vanessa leans forward, eyes slightly squinted, focused on Red. She takes another breath and says:

"I walked."

.

Vanessa Marshal never believed in magic – not the literal kind.

For a child it's easy to play and pretend. It's called imagination, not delusion. Vanessa was a very imaginative little girl.

She'd watch her father at work, forging straight squares of metal, bending and twisting it into fancy shapes of all sorts. He'd create fire pokers, knives and even chandeliers. His customers always applauded the creativity and precision of his engravings. She thought it fascinating how he was able to tell the right temperature just by the color the iron took in the flames. Vanessa still remembers her father's words: "Too hot and the metal will melt and be ruined; too cold and it'll break." She'd watch him craft this ancient work, using different hammers of different sizes to shape edges – he was famous for his knives; she'd admire his skill and his strength. He'd always grind his work just this one more time to erase all unevenness. Then he'd lay down the finished piece on a towel and wipe the beads of sweat from his forehead and sigh with something that sounded more like yearning than satisfaction.

Vanessa would imagine – imagine having him forge a sword made from gold with a hilt of mahogany and a shield with the emblem of a kingdom she had yet to find. She'd imagine wandering through enchanted forests, following the path of fairy tales way deep into the legends of her bed time stories. She'd fight dragons and save princesses in countries far away. She even sewed herself a cape. Whatever it was that made her father worry so much, she'd defeat it.

She'd run – run until she felt like flying. She was Peter Pan and trees transformed themselves to pirates. Sometimes she can still hear her enemies bark insults. She'd simply laugh into their faces. It was her fate to be a hero.

But every child eventually grows up and Vanessa discovered that imagination is really called delusion. She learned that her bed time stories were the result of her father's ill mind, one that didn't know the difference between reality and dream. His fairy tales were all a lie.

What Vanessa definitely does believe in is taking what she wants.

The first time it happened it had been an accident.

Vanessa had been fifteen, too young to understand what she was doing, too old to be asking weird questions. She barely knew anything about herself; she never thought of herself as 'different' until Trevor the jock pushed her into the lockers one day and told her to 'go back to India'.

"But I'm from here." was the only response she came up with at the time and she didn't even yell it after him – just said to herself instead.

He walked off, laughing to his friends and she stood there – bewildered and embarrassed. It would be the first of many encounters between her and Trevor and although she thought about reporting him, she never did. She figured that it wasn't that important – that she wasn't that important. She figured he'd only find a way to get back at her anyway. She figured that being bullied for looking differently was still better than being bullied for being the daughter of a blacksmith who lost his mind.

So she endured his insults and his attacks. She didn't fight back when Trevor took her bag and threw it out the window; she didn't raise her voice when he started his habit of walking behind her and kicking her heels; she didn't make a fuss about the fact that he openly picked on her during lessons, forcing her into silence – but neither did anyone else.

One day during P.E. Trevor tackled her and she pushed back, out of reflex. She wasn't physically strong, just angry… and tired. She was tired of being pushed around, harassed for something that wasn't her fault, that never even mattered before; she was tired of feeling humiliated _all_ the time. She was tired of being disappointed by the lack of help she received. He tackled her and she pushed back and he flew backwards and yelped in pain. Vanessa had barely felt anything, maybe a light tingle where he had touched her.

She stood there for what seemed to be forever and endured everyone's stares and Trevor's insults, too. He had a sprained ankle. She was suspended for a week.

The second time it happened she was sixteen and about to fail math.

One more test and she'd have to repeat the class. Needless to say her teenage mind was panicking with shrill alarm. And after that fateful day with Trevor no one wanted to help her, either. She was 'that freak girl' who beat a jock, hurt his ankle. He had never regained his strength and was kicked off the football team. Ironically Vanessa was now deemed the bully.

So on the day before the test she was close to tears. Vanessa wasn't lazy and she wasn't dumb. But math just never came as naturally to her as it seemed to do for others. She spent her lunch break in the library, face down in a book, trying to drill those formulas into her mind until they'd make sense – a last ditch effort to somehow pass after all.

Then Marissa stopped next to her. "If you haven't got it now, you'll never get it." she sneered. Marissa was a geek: extremely bright, extremely casual with her clothes, and quite cute, in Vanessa's opinion, at least. She always wore a pair of black nerd glasses and band t-shirts. And she quoted Star Trek. Not many people appreciated that, which landed her a spot at the bottom of the social hierarchy – just one step above Vanessa. Because at least Marissa looked 'normal' and she hadn't ended the quarterback's football career. Marissa had quickly learned that kicking others down would ensure she'd never be quite at the bottom herself.

And Vanessa? Vanessa had enough. She was angry – so angry. She just wanted the insults to stop. She wanted a chance to explain herself, to redeem herself. She wanted to pass this damn math test and to graduate and to get out of here, to a place more accepting. The search for the enchanted forests might have been futile, but maybe New York or Boston would do, too. Until then, she mainly wanted to be left alone. So she got up from her chair, clutching her math book to her chest, and she hissed for Marissa to get out of her way, 'or else'. But Marissa wasn't fast enough so they bumped shoulders as Vanessa rushed past her and… there it was again: that tingle, faint and clouded by rage, but unmistakably the same feeling she'd had when she'd pushed Trevor.

Marissa pulled a face and rolled her eyes and huffed.

The revelation came at home.

The next time Vanessa opened her book the change was obvious. She was able to focus like never before; flipping through the pages she absorbed knowledge easily and wondered why she'd be so stuck on these simple tasks.

She passed the test with flying colors.

Marissa failed.

Vanessa soon realized that she was able to take people's skills. Unfortunately the effect appeared to be only temporary – at least for her. The gained ability would vanish after a couple of days and never return to the… donor.

Of course she figured that some people would consider it immoral to take someone's talent from them, but she was only sixteen and at the very end of the food chain. She wasn't physically strong or incredibly smart; not extremely athletic or outstandingly creative. Vanessa was an average: an average bully victim who was fed up with being pushed around.

For a kid being able to take whatever you want without ever being caught - that's not only a temptation impossible to resist. That's instant justice.

She was prosecutor, judge and jury. If someone wronged her she'd simply take whatever they were proudest of. Claire wanted to become an artist: Too bad she chose to be such a bitch. Thomas was a magnificent drummer until the day he decided to empty his lunch tray on Vanessa's lap. Mrs. Hapgood apparently didn't cherish her writing skills very much if she felt the need to pick on students during history.

No one ever saw it coming. No one was ever able to draw the connection.

.

"Not good enough." Snow hisses. Emma sees Red's eyes glow crimson, senses Snow's anger. She's pretty much fed up herself, as well. "Listen," Still, she's not a warrior. She negotiates, finds people – finds their true selves. That's what Henry said, right? "My son was abducted and right now you're the only one who managed to get into the castle. Please."

Vanessa never believed in magic, not the literal kind – until the day her car broke down in Storybrooke and she took a power that can't be stolen, only split: the day she met Regina.

She sighs and looks at her belongings still scattered across the pavement. She was only on her way through to Boston.

"How many people do you accidentally bump into every day?" she asks and Emma furrows her brows. "Do you remember every incident?"

The question is met with bewilderment. Before anyone can answer, she continues:

"I do. I do remember."


	7. Chapter 6: Monster

**A/N: **I decided to upload every finished chapter I have so far. There's lots of stuff coming up and I'm really excited about how it'll all fit together. The ending is written, but we're nowhere near that, yet.

I'd again like to thank AJ and Julia for their input. And I'd like to thank those who actually take the time to sit down and read this.

.

**Chapter 6: Monster**

In his store Rumpelstiltskin is rummaging through his shelves, uneasy and plagued by thoughts and thoughts and worries. He worries way too much for someone who's lost everything he cared about – everything but his dignity: the one thing he willingly gave away.

That's what he tells himself, at least.

He clung to his pride too tightly – too tightly to admit to mistakes, too tightly to let go of his power. Instead he let go of his son.

And now? Now the man who turned into a beast has turned into a man harboring a monster. It's that monster, which doesn't let him sleep at night, the monster which reminds him of his failures and his cowardice. It's the monster that spits darkness, sticky and moist, to cover his life; those forces that work and work tell him to go on and on. He may not have a son. He may not have a wife. But he still has his fear. It's the monster that points fingers and calls him by his name:

Coward.

.

Henry sits in his room – his prison – and flips through the book he cherishes so much. He was surprised when his mom told him he could keep it, but figures it's because he knows the truth now anyway.

He re-reads Red's story, because it's his favorite. He admires Granny's loyalty towards her granddaughter: how she sacrificed everything to keep Red safe. He understands the inner struggle – how a good person is supposed to turn in the evil-doer, but how sometimes good people make mistakes and it's not their fault. And then they deserve to be protected. Red made a mistake and she's suffering the consequences. And Granny put her family first. He knows that this doesn't make Granny a bad person. It just makes her someone who loves with all her heart. One good person protects another.

Sometimes he imagines what it'd be like to have a cloak like the one Red uses to keep her wolf in check. He imagines making a deal like Granny and purchasing a magical piece of cloth, black not crimson. Henry would sneak up to Regina's chambers at night when she's asleep and he'd cover her in dark satin and take her evilness away from her. Good people can do that, right? Cure the Bad?

Once she'd notice, she'd fight it, of course – at first. But soon enough, Henry's sure, even Regina would realize that being liked is better than being loathed. So gradually she'd start wearing the cloak voluntarily, defeat her inner monster like Red has. She'd learn to live with her powers and use them to do good instead. And she'd love Henry, for real.

It's a nice dream. One that's impossible.

The reality is much more grim: His mom is destined to be evil, to do evil. Her fate is to try and take everyone's happy endings until she's finally defeated, locked away, cursed or killed. And then all the stories will be rewound, told again through someone else's eyes. Regina will be called Maleficent or Ursula and a new hero will be born and defeat her once more. Henry can close his book and start at page one as often as he wishes.

So he does. He closes the book and flips it open randomly. He's got enough of Red and false hope for tonight. He browses through pages and pages until he finds a passage that he never paid much attention to before:

"Once upon a time there was a monster without a name. It had been born without a purpose and without a purpose it was doomed to live.

No one had ever loved the monster.

The monster thought it unfair that every creature seemed to have something to live for, while the monster was just living. It grew up just to grow. And it existed, solely to exist. Not even death seemed to be a goal, because the monster was immortal.

Years passed and the monster grew strong and bitter. It would walk among people and ask them to give it a name, but they'd only reply: 'You're a monster.'

The monster didn't understand what that meant. It was confused.

And then it realized that for the very first time it had felt. And it found that it now had a goal:

Its purpose was to feel."

.

In his store Rumpelstiltskin smashes flasks against the wall. He reaches out and flicks his fingers against glass to tip over items – they roll to the edge of the shelf, tumble over it and burst on the floor. And he swipes his arm through objects and throws them and it feels good: destruction; self- destruction, too.

He's tried everything. He feels like he's tried everything his power could provide him with to retrieve a semblance of the man he once was – just better: brave. He tried so hard to gain strength through magic, to build himself a foundation of artificial power to feed off, to grow from. But even now that he's the mightiest in Storybrooke, more powerful than everyone he ever knew, it's not enough. It's not enough to have magic, not enough for him to grow. He feels like he's disappearing instead. The monster is still calling his name: Coward.

He hides behind this word – hid behind it even before he started hiding behind power, or curtains. He clings to it too tightly – too tightly to admit to mistakes, too tightly to free himself of these restrictions. It's who he is.

It's destiny.

And with every breath he takes he feels the monster grow, enshroud him with a hood of blame and guilt. It's like he can still hear the villagers laugh at him through time and through the portal. The land without magic harbors the all too familiar mockery. He carries it wherever he goes, folded neatly into the pockets of his mind – like a prayer, if he still had faith.

He grasps the edge of his desk and pushes up, pushes until he thinks his muscles might snap. He knocks it over and it feels good: self-destruction; destruction, too.

He hears laughter, far away, then closer and closer and he recognizes the voices.

They all sound like him.

Darkness befalls his mind once more and it spreads, spreads until all light has fled, scared of the coward. It presses down, like quicksand gushing onto his skin; it forces him to kneel and he cups his face with both his palms.

_Make it stop!_

But darkness spreads and calls his name, demanding to be heard – demanding to be feared. And it creates a force stronger than Rumplestiltskin has ever felt before: a force ripping open reality before him. It's only a scratch at first, but as his fear grows so does the force and it pulls at the edges of the hole it created and it stretches and stretches and unleashes blackness darker than death.

He can only gasp and grip his own heart in a futile attempt not to be swallowed. But shadows are already creeping through his store, feeding off his crippling doubt and fear. They gain strength by the second; with every of his ragged breaths it seems. And they're fast – _so_ fast. He stands and tumbles backwards into the next corner, his eyes wide open in shock. He watches as these creatures jump out of the leak he created, sneering and grabbing at everything within reach, consuming matter, licking gloom. They're no longer calling his name, because he's neither their master nor their target. He's just a regular coward.

And like a regular coward he runs.

.

"So the monster asked the farmer: 'Who am I?'

And the farmer answered: 'You're a monster.' There it was again: Confusion. The monster without a name felt satisfaction.

And the monster asked the blacksmith: 'What's my name?'

And the blacksmith answered: 'You're a monster.' And the monster wasn't confused, because it had expected the answer. The monster felt nothing.

Until it felt frustration. The monster felt satisfaction.

And the monster asked the fool: 'What am I?'

And the fool said: 'What do you think you are?'

And the monster felt confusion. And it felt frustration. And it felt anger.

'I'm a monster.' It replied. And the fool said: 'Well, then you're a monster.'

But the monster didn't really know what that meant, so it felt confusion and frustration and anger, but not satisfaction. Instead it felt hungry.

So it went to the librarian to satisfy its needs and it asked: 'What is a monster?'

And the librarian furrowed her eyebrows and said: '_You_ are a monster.' But the monster shook its head. 'But what does that mean?' Confusion – frustration - anger.

'Well,' the librarian said, nodding towards the shelves before pushing up her glasses with her index finger. 'People are afraid of monsters, because monsters hurt them.'

And the monster reached out and grabbed the librarian's throat and strangled her. And it didn't feel anything.

Until it felt disappointment. Then frustration. Then anger.

Satisfaction.

It went on to hurt many people, but soon the effect wore off again until only frustration was left. The monster had killed most people in its village and the few remaining were afraid. There was no one to ask anymore.

Again, it was without a purpose.

Until it felt anger.

Hadn't the farmer started all this by calling the monster a monster? Hadn't the blacksmith contributed to this as well?

The monster thought that before the confusion it had never felt the need to kill. It had never felt anything at all.

Or maybe, maybe it had felt curiosity. The farmer and the blacksmith and the librarian and everyone in the village had taken that from it. That's what people had done to the monster.

And anger grew to rage.

And from this rage grew a new purpose: revenge.

From then on the monster existed to collect names, to take them from people, from everyone who had deprived it of what was rightfully the monster's. And it took the names of sorcerers and witches and kings and queens; it took their powers, too.

The monster without a name became the monster of many names.

It's still waiting for its rage to make space for satisfaction."


	8. Chapter 7: Coming Back

**Chapter 7: Coming Back**

There's a theory that in this universe it's impossible to suffer actual loss. We die and we dissolve and our molecules fall apart to atoms and those atoms regroup and form new molecules and form new masses, and that's how science is supposed to calm us so we're not so afraid of death. Ever since people learned to learn, it seems like all their theories are built around the concept of eternity. The soul and love, God and the Cauldron of Rebirth and apparently physics, too – we explain all finiteness away in order to preserve hope. We need a future to work towards, something to hold on to. We need stars in the firmament to represent uncharted territory, places we haven't traveled to, yet, dreams worth living for. If the only prospect would be nothingness then we'd simply give up doing anything.

.

"You can take people's skills."

Emma is inclined to ask, but if she's being honest with herself, she stopped questioning the laws of Storybrooke the day Henry ate that apple. Instead she resigns herself with stating the obvious and adds a good portion of sarcasm. And yet:

"Seriously?"

Although this is not an actual question, either.

"Is that how you got into the castle?" Red, too, sounds like she's only repeating what Vanessa said. There's no doubt in her voice. She has her answer already.

"I guess." Vanessa says and the impassiveness of her expression is striking.

"I don't understand. Whose power did you take?" Emma squints and crosses her arms. Not long ago her own life turned from lawless to bounty hunting. She remembers taking a lot of things that weren't hers to take. She remembers how ill it made her – how stealing from people made her feel imprisoned, because nothing she ever took ever felt quite like hers. Nothing would ever truly belong to her. She can only imagine what it'd be like to take something so personal: maybe even something that makes the person who they are.

Of course Vanessa just shrugs yet again. "Someone's." she offers and Snow is through arguing. Her life, too, keeps spinning out of control and every quiet moment just seems to add another disaster. It's like she's doomed to lose her family again and again. And although a part of her thinks she rightfully deserves it for the pain she caused Regina, she's also through with feeling guilty about it. If she's being punished but never forgiven, then what's the use of trying to make amends?

"Then you can use that to get into the castle again." It's a demand, crisp and clear.

Vanessa stands there, posture firm, her hands in her pockets, her eyes wide open. "You wanted me to tell you how I got in there. You said you'd let me go. I told you. Now let me go." And she's already moving to pick up what she stole from Regina when Red grabs her and turns her around.

"Actually, we said we'd let you keep your things. What do you want with all that anyway? If you're working on a curse of your own, we might have to make sure you don't hurt anyone."

Vanessa shrugs herself free and shoots Red an outraged glare. "You can't do that." she hisses, but steps backwards anyway, just in case. "Whatever it is you've got against me, I can take it from you."

Red just smirks. "Believe me," she says, calm and smug, but with a smack of bitterness. "You don't want my power."

"Listen," Emma interferes. "I know you don't know us and you have no reason to help us, but right now you're our only hope."When she doesn't get any reaction she raises her eyebrows and gestures towards Regina's castle.

"I mean, just take a look at this. Look what Regina did to this town. She abducted people and she's keeping them prisoner. You really don't care about that? You really don't care that there's a gigantic castle on a random hill surrounded by living vines in the middle of Maine? Doesn't any of that strike you as odd at all?" The tower clock chimes twice for emphasis.

Vanessa turns her head to the castle she just walked out of, then squints at the sky. "Well, it _is _kinda dark here." she comments. "But I'm not going to be your tool in… whatever weird war you're fighting."

And Red shakes her head. "No," she insists, "All we're asking…"

"I said," Vanessa interrupts her, her voice calm but clear. "I'm not going to be your tool. I was going in there again anyway, so I might as well look around a bit. No promises, though."

"You're going back?" There's something intriguing about Vanessa, Red thinks. Something familiar, too – something that goes beyond demons wrapped in skin, waiting to be fought. It's a pull towards something else long lost in time.

Vanessa just shrugs again. "Do you even know what people would be willing to pay for actual magic?"

.

There's another theory that says you can always only take from yourself. If you steal something from another, in return something is taken from you, too. Not in the literal sense. You don't take ten dollars and then ten dollars are taken from you as a consequence. But if you take something that belongs to someone else, then that creates a vacuum in the space it was taking up before. And a vacuum consumes mass until it's filled with something again. Therefore, if you take something, you automatically lose a part of yourself to the owner of that item you took.

Of course, Vanessa was lying about her motives and let's face it:No one actuallybelieved her. She had been too easily convinced to go back, to help them out; had too easily given up her big secret. Vanessa is fully aware of that she isn't kidding anyone.

Although technically everything Vanessa had told them was true. The lie lies in the things she left out. Things like that she had been physically unable to leave Storybrooke ever since her car had broken down here – that something had always been drawing her back. Or that she couldn't help but feel a strange familiarity whenever she was close to Regina; that curiosity had long won over greed, and that she had spent a good portion of the past twenty-four hours in the castle to spy on the so called 'Evil Queen'.

But who cares about technicalities?

She sneaks through chambers and dark halls. It strikes her how quiet of a place this is, how wide the simplest corridor seems when there's only her and no one else. She wonders why anyone would inhabit a castle all by themselves. To her it seems as vast as the universe; like space where lungs collapse and all screams die in one's throat and the stars seem so much further away than they do if you look from the solid ground of earth. And the longer you float through the darkness the more you drift away from everything and you don't ever arrive anywhere. Maybe that's how she's sucked into this all. Maybe that's why her car broke down in Storybrooke, too. Maybe she's mass filling a void.

Her bag is stuffed with new treasures already, but of course that's not what she came here for.

Dim candle light makes shadows flicker against the cold stones of Regina's castle walls. Their dancing is the only thing that could give away Vanessa's presence. She's light on her feet and hardly creates a sound.

She passes many doors on her journey through deep space. There are no guards, no servants and Regina herself usually hides in her library or far up the tower. Vanessa never followed her there, but she thinks that whatever she'd find were she to climb those stairs would be worth more than anything else she's come across. Sometimes she thinks she hears a noise from inside those rooms; they're all secured with heavy locks. But whenever she presses her ear to the wood, there's only silence. She promised to take a look and by now she's taken more than two. She knows where Regina's private chambers are and she knows that that's where she could find the keys. But does she really care?

Not waiting for her conscience to answer she moves further into the depth of the castle. It's cold in here. Vanessa's fingers are stiff. Whatever evil she was to expect Vanessa is sure it lives in these halls; it's in the air, in the pillars and walls – granite, she guesses. She didn't feel evil when she met Regina, but this castle vibrates with grimness.

Then she hears footsteps and quickly jumps behind the next corner, her back pressed against the wall, and waits. But again it must have been an echo. Maybe, she thinks, all this blackness calls for shadows so dark that they can be heard, too – like they were physical entities. She shakes off these thoughts quickly, though. She's a realist, she reminds herself, not a dreamer – not Peter Pan whose shadow came alive.

When she dares breathe again and turns to move forward someone grabs her by the shoulder.

"You actually had the audacity to come back." Regina's voice thunders through the hall and Vanessa is startled, but clutches her bag tight nonetheless and doesn't answer anything.

"Did you think you could sneak in and out of _my_ castle," Regina presses her fingers into Vanessa's shoulder for emphasis. It hurts. "Take _my_ belongings and I wouldn't notice? Could you really be so dense?"

And Vanessa? Vanessa squints and attempts to move backwards and offers: "Well, I _am_ pretty stealthy."

Regina does the one thing she knows how to do well: she rages and she lashes out; steps back and she summons clouds of black curses and sends them into the intruder's direction and smirks with satisfaction. Vanessa ducks in a reflex, but it's futile. She has barely time to think at all and her last thought is nothing but a 'no'. Magic hits her and she feels… nothing. She opens her eyes slowly and through the cracks between her eyelids she sees Regina's clouds fulminate. A pat to each arm confirms she's still in one piece, so her next instinct is to run.

Yet again she's stopped, and this time it's the bag hanging over her shoulder that's pulled back forcefully.

"How did you do that?" Regina demands.

Vanessa stumbles backwards, lands on her ass, but stands up quickly to shoot Regina an angry glare. "Maybe you're not as powerful as you think you are."

Regina's insides churn. "I am more powerful than you can imagine," she hisses and it's Vanessa's turn to smirk. She felt Regina's power on their first encounter, felt power running through her veins - felt it leave her again immediately; she felt the pressure it induced and the relief when it was gone.

Vanessa has her own theory about taking things. She likes physics, not in the sense that she likes working with actual formulas and designing technology; not in the scientific research- sense of 'like'. But she likes conclusions. And she doesn't believe anything's forever. Like those powers she takes; she thinks that maybe they vanish, because skills don't last. We acquire them and we train them and then we have them, for a while, until our bodies give up on them again. Like a professional baseball player will have to resign when he grows old and the next skillful generation takes his place. Or like our vision worsens with age. Or like her dad's mind was lost for him. She thinks that maybe she's just speeding up the process. She thinks that maybe that's why she can take those skills at all – because they don't actually belong to anyone. Like all the things she steals. Like all the things she lets go off again eventually. Nothing's worth it to be held on to. And nothing, once lost, will ever come back.

And she thinks that maybe that's how Regina's magic is special: it's personal.

Vanessa failed to hold on to magic and she can only guess that that's because it's not a skill that Regina naturally acquired. She can still feel it working inside of her, trembling queer sparks of electricity. Like an echo it sounds through her veins. It's a strong aftermath: One that vibrates in synchrony with Regina's voice – with her anger and her wonder, and what strikes Vanessa most: fear.

Just what is she afraid of?

"You don't seem to have power over me, though." Vanessa feels like she's playing with fire; like if she doesn't watch out she'll miss the point when it's time to retreat from the glow. If she waits too long she'll melt like her father's iron. Regina's death glare confirms this.

But to her surprise, when Regina speaks again, she's calm and her grin is smug and mischievous.

"You might want to put those items back where they belong," she comments. "Come. I'll personally assist you." And she takes Vanessa by the arm and drags her across the hallway, deeper into the castle. When all struggles are futile Vanessa realizes that although magic may not work on her, it still works on The Queen herself and it provides her with superhuman strength. "Don't fight." Regina suggests with a condescending chirp in her voice. "You're only doing what's right. You're returning property."

Vanessa scoffs. "That sounds kinda ironic coming from you. Or are you going to put all the people you captured back where they belong as well?" She's fully prepared to be beaten or smashed against the next wall. She's expecting more of the anger that vibrates in her own veins, a reminder of their first encounter. What she doesn't expect is Regina to stay calm.

"They belong with me," she states, simply. And Vanessa can't help but keep provoking. Maybe it's her curiosity; maybe deep down she knows Regina feels the same connection, the same familiarity – that Regina's Evil will never go too far with her; maybe it's Vanessa's genes and her father's craft is poking through. She's picking words like tools and shaping edges; she's turning iron in the forge, carefully examining shades of red and orange. She knows she isn't done, yet.

"Even that boy you took?"

There's silence except for the clicking of Regina's heels on hard tiles. Vanessa counts ten steps. Then they come to a halt.

"What do you know about my son?"

Regina's grip tightens painfully around Vanessa's arm. And there it is again: fear. Seems like Regina has an idea about losing things as well. It also seems like Vanessa hadn't been the only one lying.

"Figures." It's a conclusion that Regina doesn't understand, of course. She furrows her brows and holds her breath.

"What?" she demands and Vanessa sighs and quits struggling. One thing she learned from being bullied, one thing she learned on her search for nothing – the one thing she truly took away from taking powers – is that it's wise not to pick a side in someone else's battle. "Look," she says, sliding the bag off her shoulder. "I'm sorry I stole from you." She also learned that her theory about loss wants to be falsified desperately. Vanessa tried to replace a few things she lost herself; like the family she always wished for – a real family, not just her father who dreamed of fairy tales; like control over her life that was taken from her the moment Trevor pushed her into those lockers. Like all those hopes and wishes she gave up when she realized that out of all things she had taken her father's sanity was the first. Now it's like she can't even see the stars in the firmament anymore. She knows she was only a baby and all she ever did was being held. And yet what she deserves and what she gets will never ever match again. Therefore sometimes the night sky is pitch black. It's the same blackness she now senses in Regina.

"It won't happen again."

Regina is unimpressed. "Of course it won't," she sneers, but pauses nonetheless when she sees sincerity in Vanessa's expression. It's pure surprise that makes her let go of the arm she's clutching.

"You'll come back?" she asks, and it's half an experiment, because, of course no one ever comes to Regina on their own free will.

Maybe Vanessa is drawn to Regina. Maybe she's a moth fluttering towards and around the candle that must be burning somewhere inside of her. Maybe Regina is the only thing interesting Vanessa has encountered in a long time. Maybe they're both mass being sucked into each other's vacuum.

"Yeah," she says, and turns around and walks, and Regina doesn't hold her back.


	9. Chapter 9: Run

**A/N:** I like to go by a "Never apologize, never explain" - policy. But this is fanfiction, so I'm going to share a piece of information with you:

'Marshal' is a loan word from old French 'maréchal', which derives from the Old Frankish word 'marhskalk', which means servant, keeper or stable boy.

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**Chapter 8: Run**

"Do you think she'll come back?" Snow wonders out loud and stares at the vines. They're now perfectly entangled again, unbreakable to the average human. A cool breeze pulls at her hair and she tugs at the collar of her jacket.

"I honestly don't know." Emma admits. She sits, because there's nothing to do, really. "We could continue and search for an entrance ourselves, but I doubt there's another way in."

Red's visibly uneasy. "I can't stand this." And it's like she's speaking everyone's mind. "I'm through waiting." Her eyes glow dangerously from the dark shadow of her hood. "We've been barely reunited and torn apart again already. It's tearing me up from the inside. Isn't it enough that I have my wolf howling inside of me, gnashing her teeth angrily, demanding her spot in what should be my life exclusively? But now I have Ruby, too, and she has years worth of memories that aren't mine. She's gone to high school and she's had boyfriends, and apparently a girlfriend, too. She's a waitress, because she never believed she could be anything more than that. I have a monster in me that's bursting with self-righteous rage and I have a monster that's nagging at my confidence and somewhere in there is me and I only wish I could have a few short moments to sit and rest and reconcile me with myself. I'm so split."

She looks at the moon again and whimpers. It's a high-pitched, distant sound and Emma knows that this is not the human in her speaking.

"Do you sometimes feel like hunting?" she asks.

Red's face is impassive when she tells her that, yes, she does. "All the time."

"It's weird, you know."

Snow has now settled next to Emma and her eyes are motherly warm again; she's not just looking at Emma, she's listening to her, listening to her every word and heartbeat.

"I spent my entire life hunting. I lived alone and I stayed away from people. Whenever someone was getting too close for my comfort, whenever I thought someone started to know me, I moved on. And I never said goodbye. I felt like a tourist, collecting stories, traveling places but never arriving anywhere. I was searching, just what I was searching for I didn't know. It never even dawned on me when I started finding people for a living. I didn't understand that all my life I've been searching for this place – for you. It's so weird. I felt like a lone wolf, too. And I was slaying the beast within me over and over again, but it never kept quiet for long. It would always urge me on, force me to move further, deeper into the forest, hunting for… I don't know… destiny? And now," Emma chokes out a bitter laughter "We're here and for the first time people know me and I don't want to run away again." Snow hesitates for a second or maybe two, but then drapes her arm across her daughter's shoulders. They might not quite be a family, yet, but Mary Margaret loves Emma as her best friend and Snow loves Emma as her child and both of them love Emma for Emma.

"There's a beast in all of us." she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "I have some experience with running away as well. And I know what it's like to hunt without ever finding anything you want." She looks up at Red, the woman who's grown to be Snow's best friend. Once upon a time she was afraid of the wolf. But even though she thought of it as a monster when she first saw it, she was never afraid of Red, because Red was just a girl who grew into the kindest woman Snow had ever seen. And Red taught her that even the greatest fear can be faced; the greatest threat can be defeated and the greatest conflict can be solved. Even people who seem weak and who don't believe in themselves can overcome monstrosities. Snow promised to herself to be strong the moment the curse was lifted and she was reunited with Red. Because for Red, hunting is not a metaphor and all battles are real. For Red, there's not just two humans fighting for dominance beneath her skin. And she told herself that if even her friend can find the strength to go on, then she herself has no right to be pining.

"And did you ever hunt Regina?"

Snow thinks about Emma's question, wonders if any of the battles she fought against the dark kingdom were more than pure self-defense. "James and I were trying to take back our kingdom." she answers after a while. Then she thinks again, questions her motives, questions whether death has ever truly been her goal for the woman who once saved her life. It's a bitter thought. "Yes." she finally admits. "I think I have been. And for that I'm not proud."

Emma nods silently. Snow sighs.

"Have you ever read Henry's book? The full version?"

"No." Emma says. She never believed those stories to be true. In hindsight she wishes for some of the knowledge that must still be printed on those pages.

"So you don't know what happened to Regina? Why she became the person she is today?"

Emma doesn't know what to respond, because if she's being honest, she never really cared about Regina's motives. But she also never thought she'd actually be dealing with The Evil Queen. She never judged Regina on the basis of what others said, only on the basis of what she witnessed herself. Because Emma was considered bad by many, too. She knows better than to pass judgment on people. She only judges deeds.

"Seriously?" It's a statement, not a question, of course. "Is whatever turned Regina evil in the book you gave my son? Seriously?"

And Snow furrows her eyebrows. "I'm not sure." she says.

"So how did she become who she is?" Emma has an idea or two what pushes people to the dangerous edge of the cliff. And who knows what would have become of her, hadn't she been put into prison with a baby on its way? It's easy taking what you want. It's not easy to face the consequences of your actions. It's easy to be mad at others for failing you. Anger still churns in her stomach sometimes when she looks at Snow or James. But it's not easy to take on responsibility for your own actions. It's easy to wish for things to change, to erase the past and start off fresh. But it's not easy to find a way to live with your memories and build a new life on top of what you've got. It's not easy to swallow your pride and make amends and forgive yourself for what you've done. It's not easy to let go off pain.

"I ruined her life." Snow states, then squints. When she opens her mouth again she tells Emma everything she knows. About Daniel, about Cora, about her own father, too. There's hurt in her eyes and in her voice and sometimes it's like there's the little girl she once was flickering behind dark pupils. She's wounded, but not broken. There's darkness, too: heavy guilt and the wish for redemption. There's self-righteousness and a sense of loyalty towards her father, the good hearted man who abused a teenager by taking her in as his wife. There's a twisted loyalty towards Regina, as well. "There's so much evil cursing through her veins now, but whatever she is, fact remains that the first time we met," Snow swallows bitter thoughts about what she ruined, the life she destroyed. "Regina saved my life. She could have been a hero. But I was only a child who had lost her mother. I did what I thought was right and it turned out to be wrong. And now she's a villain."

"And now we're here," Red interjects. "And the lesson we all had to learn the hard way is everything we did lives on forever. I have my demons and you have yours. Sometimes our monsters come alive to hunt and kill."

But Emma shakes her head. "I don't believe in monsters. And I don't believe in villains." _And I'm not a hero_, she wants to add, but doesn't.

Snow's eyes soften immediately again. There are days on which the compassionate joyful girl in her forgets to be compassionate and joyful; fighting for her life in the woods, fleeing and hunting and going to war – all that has scarred her soul. Those are scars that itch and burn and cloud her mind with bitterness. She knows the wish for instant justice just as much as Regina does. Only she comes to her senses, always, before she can lose her mind and drift into darkness. She had her father who taught her enthusiasm and who loved and cherished her and gave her everything a child could ever need. She has Charming now, and he loves her with all his heart. She has friends; she has the dwarfs who'll support her and fight for her to their dying breath; she has kind Red to remind her to be strong and face her shadows. And now there's Emma. And Emma, although she claims not to believe in magic, harbors a force greater than Snow has ever seen. She's a fighter; she has confidence, even though she doesn't always know it. Emma once said she had a superpower – that she could detect lies. Maybe those lies are more than just words.

Maybe monsters and villains are a lie as well.

Maybe magic is, too, in a way.

"Not everybody has the privilege of growing up with loving parents."

Emma's words are a bitter reminder of another one of Snow's failures: her biggest regret.

"If everything you said is true, then it's no wonder Regina is so lost." An echo of Regina's magic pulses through her; it makes sense now more than ever.

And even Red has to agree. Still: "What do you suggest then? That we let her have her way?"

"No," Emma counters immediately. "Of course not. There's a difference between understanding and excusing. I'm just saying," and she knits her brows and wonders where everyone's childhood went and why it had to end so fast and harsh. Where's the spark of hope to light the candle they can flutter around, for a while, to gain strength? "Maybe showing a little compassion won't hurt. Maybe remembering that she's still human won't either."_Maybe_, she thinks, _you'll be able to let me step down from that pedestal you put me on_.

Red and Snow have the same expression on their faces now: sadness. Then Red bends down and looks Emma in the eye. "When we're done here," she says and her eyes suddenly gleam playfully. "When all this is over and we have our families back and three seconds to live our lives," One corner of Emma's lips shoots up for a second. "I'll take you with me into the woods. When the moon is full and the air hums with life, I'll show you a world you've never seen before – a world that only us wolves have access to."

And now Emma laughs, because Red's enthusiasm seems ridiculous in a time like this. But Red's smile doesn't falter, so she asks: "You're taking me hunting?"

"No." Red answers. "We'll be done hunting by then, hopefully for good. And we'll run free of any burden. When I turn, I grow. I'll carry you and we'll run faster than you ever could." Her fingertips touch the pavement for support as she crouches in front of Emma. "We'll be silent phantoms and for one night, you won't have to worry about anything but the wind biting your face. We will run without running away."

As much as Emma doesn't want to believe in magic and all it entails – as much as the fairy tale belongs in the world of children – as silly as Red's suggestion may sound, in the world Emma has lived the past twenty-eight years, it also sounds really nice.

.

In the meantime Rumpelstiltskin keeps running for an entirely different reason. He never meant to open the portal and release the monster. He never meant for his magic to consume him so. And he wants to take it back. He wants to take it all back.

He imagines going back in time and fight in the Ogre War – in a time before they replaced his name by a stigma. He would have died. But he wouldn't have died a coward. He wouldn't have disappointed his son, again and again. He wouldn't have become the embodiment of his own fear.

He imagines going on great journeys with Milah, giving her everything she dreamed of – they'd find their adventures together. Together they would have been invincible. He may have had to let his home behind, but at least the shadows wouldn't have had something to latch onto. They wouldn't be hunting him now. They wouldn't threaten to overrun Storybrooke.

But it's too late and even Regina's darkness seems harmless now.

Decades have passed since Rumpelstiltskin took a life and gave up his own in return – decades since he became The Dark One – decades since he gave up his name to a dagger to be ruled by his power, not the other way around.

He runs through the night, through streets and to the Toll Bridge. He stumbles and looks up and turns around: There's nothing there. But he hears them, hears monsters calling his name; they spawn and grow by the second.

Out of all the evil he summoned, this one is the worst by far. There won't be hiding anywhere. No one will be safe. It's fear; it's death; it's the everlasting night. And all because he lacks of the bravery to face what haunts him.

From now on everything that casts a shadow will harbor a potential threat.

And still he's unable to stop running. It's like this instinct is embedded into his genes, like a rabbit flees from the fox or a rat flees from a sinking ship. Others might fight back. Others might freeze. But that's not Rumpelstiltskin. He's doomed to regret and out of regret he'll make the wrong decision so that he can regret again.

So he runs now, too. And he runs into the woods and runs to the well he unleashed magic from. He pulls at the cord; a creaking sound indicates the bucket is near, but when he finally holds it in his hands, it's empty. Even the water has run out. The last bit of good magic that he knew has left him and now – now there'll be nothing but waiting for his destiny to catch up.


End file.
